


A Fellow Student of Death

by themoonflower



Series: War and the Underworld [2]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Ares has PTSD from the Aloadae incident, Ares is not popular on Olympus, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex, Late game spoilers, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Zag and Ares are cousins, they're Greek gods it's how they roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 24,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28540374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonflower/pseuds/themoonflower
Summary: Ares is disliked by most of his Olympian colleagues, but as long as he has Thanatos he has everything he needs.Then he is asked to help Zagreus break out of the underworld, and things get complicated.Told from Ares' POV, this follows the main plot of the game.Rated M for mature themes, but there is nothing graphic or explicit. Brief reference to a dubiously-consensual sexual situation.
Relationships: Aphrodite/Ares (Hades Video Game), Ares/Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Ares/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Series: War and the Underworld [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179146
Comments: 210
Kudos: 198





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Note for Chapter 1: reference to death in childbirth (minor background character)

Ares has had many lovers and sired many children, but most of those connections have been fleeting. A tryst here, a brief fling there. His relationship with Aphrodite, while passionate, has always been a tumultuous journey of on again, off again.

His one true love is Death.

He has adored Lord Thanatos ever since they first met back in the springtime of Ares’ youth. The winged god with hair like moonlight was not much for conversation at the time, but all it took was one look from his golden eyes for Ares to devote himself entirely to him. His fellow Olympians may have had little appreciation for the artistry of ending life, but here finally was a being who understood him as a fellow craftsman.

They admired each other from afar for centuries, each thinking the other was not interested because Lord Thanatos had not understood that Ares needed him to make the first move.

They got over that, eventually.

His lord is a gentle master, sovereign over all forms of death but having as his particular domain those who pass peacefully. Ares loves to watch the way he tenderly releases these mortals from their earthly travails, so different from the abrupt ends that he himself causes. The near-infinite variety of natural deaths never ceases to amaze him—to think that he once thought any death not from combat to be dull. Lord Thanatos has taught him to appreciate more subtle things.

Ares wears a stripe of bone-white across his face as token and banner, ignoring the disdain his open allegiance has earned him from most of his family. Let them mock—he needs approval from no one except his quiet, beautiful lord.

They are together now in his house in Thrace, Ares lying with his head pillowed on his master’s shoulder, watching his chest rise and fall. The cold outside does not touch the divinely appointed interior, and as gods they have no real need for external warmth, but they are curled up under a mess of blankets anyway, enjoying lazy kisses and tracing idle patterns onto each other’s skin in the wake of their recent lovemaking.

“You have been overly busy of late, my lord,” Ares says eventually.

“Mmm, and whose fault is that? Between your wars and the lady Demeter’s frosts, there is more work than usual. If you wish me to have more time to spend with you, try being a little less busy yourself.”

“A fair point,” says Ares. “But things have been interesting in the underworld as well, I take it.”

“Reasonably, I suppose,” says his lord. “I don’t usually have much to do with the shades once they arrive, though.”

“I was thinking more about the matter of my mysterious cousin whom I have yet to meet,” says Ares. “Zagreus, I believe he is called? Son of my uncle and your esteemed mother?”

His lord goes still next to him—he forgets to mimic mortal habits like breathing sometimes when he is distracted. “What of him?”

“Professional interest—he is apparently an accomplished young warrior. Who has been training him?”

His love frowns. “A shade Lord Hades has contracted,” he says. “Some important soldier, I guess, when he was alive. I think his name is Achilles, or something like that.

Ares raises his eyebrows at that, then rolls his eyes. To Death, he supposes, one mortal is not much different from another, but to call someone like _that_ just ‘some important soldier’ was like, well, calling Aphrodite merely ‘a pretty face.’ “That would explain his skill and fighting spirit, I suppose,” he says. “I’m looking forward to meeting him properly, honestly. I gather he has been having troubles with his father as well, and as a constant disappointment to my own, I have some sympathies there. But Lord Hades wants to keep him under lock and key? That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

It’s not just the stillness of distraction, he realizes—his lord has _frozen._ “Where have you heard all this?” Lord Thanatos demands, his voice frosty and possessing a slight unearthly echo. “Has Hermes been gossiping?”

Ares blinks. “No, lord,” he says, sitting up. “Athena said it was your mother who contacted her. Prince Zagreus is attempting to break out of the underworld and make his way to Olympus to the rest of his family, and several of us have begun granting him powers to aid him in his escape. I’m sorry, my lord, I assumed you would have been aware of this…”

“I have to go,” Death says, and vanishes in a green flash.

After a long moment of stunned silence, Ares reaches out his awareness. If his lord is anywhere on the surface, he will be able to find him, but as expected he has left the mortal realm, no doubt returning home to find out what is going on with this errant prince. He lets out a few choice blasphemies against certain members of his family tree, starting with Zeus out of habit but then quickly moving on to the most arrogant of his half-sisters. What in the literal hell has she gotten him into?

* * *

It takes him some time to find his lord again. Between absences in the underworld and needing to attend to their own divine domains, it is more than a week before he can track him down in earnest. But eventually he makes his way around sunset to a house where two divine figures stand on the roof on either side of an open window. He gives them both a polite nod as he joins them.

His sister Eileithyia gives him a questioning look. “What are you doing here, Ares?” she asks. “Birth is not your domain. Or is the child another one of yours? I was unaware.”

Ares shakes his head. “Just in the area,” he says, sitting down between them. He doesn’t know his sister very well, but his impression is that she is less obnoxious than many of the rest of his relatives, so perhaps he should make an effort to seem useful. “I can bless the child if it lives.”

She exchanges a long look with Lord Thanatos, then turns back to him. “The child will live,” she says.

“The mother will not,” Lord Thanatos says in a voice that echoes with the finality of death. He wears an expression of annoyed resignation, which is more or less his usual public demeanour, though he seems perhaps a little more weary than usual.

Eileithyia’s gaze flicks between Ares and his lord as they all stand around waiting in silence. Finally she sighs. “Suit yourself,” she says. “It will be a while, get comfortable.”

After she disappears into the room, Ares approaches his lord.

He has had many lovers, but in nearly all those relationships he is the senior to their junior, the master to their apprentice, the lord to their devotee. His competitive nature is so strong that it would not even occur to him to take a subordinate role, most of the time.

But only most of the time.

He tries to keep his displays of adoration to a minimum, at least when anyone else can see, since he knows his lord finds it a little embarrassing. But right now he wants to make a point of submitting to his beloved, so he kneels at Death’s feet without a word, head bowed, feeling slightly naked wearing only linen and wool instead of his full panoply.

After a few minutes, he feels a hand caress his hair and rest on top of his head. “My disciple,” his lord says. His voice is still cold and remote, but Ares doesn’t take that personally. “I’m still working.”

“I won’t distract you, my lord,” Ares says. “I just came to talk. This business with Lord Hades’ son… I do not know what my sister in her infinite wisdom has involved me in, but I know that whatever it is, it upset you to learn of it.”

A sigh. “It’s not you I’m upset with,” Lord Thanatos says. “It was unexpected, and I have… been put in an awkward position, is all.”

“Still, I am sorry for my part in something that is causing you distress.” He stares out into the fading twilight for a while, waiting to see if his lord will volunteer any details, but he remains silent. Ares tries again. “I need to know what you would have me do. I have not offered this prince any of my divine boons since we last spoke. I could not bear the thought that you would be sent to stop him and he would use my power against you. Only say the word and I will withdraw my aid completely.”

The fingers in his hair tangle into a fist, but Lord Thanatos does not answer. Finally he says, “I am needed below,” and slips away through the window.

Ares stays waiting outside until he hears a small thin cry from inside the room and feels a change in the ambient energy. He has no idea who this child is or why its delivery should warrant the attention of no fewer than three gods, but he remembers his earlier words and enters the room himself.

An older woman is holding a tiny squalling mortal, rubbing it all over with a length of coarse sackcloth to clean off the blood and other mingled fluids. Two more women continue to fuss over the figure in the bed. Ares can see that the mother is passing swiftly into his lord’s sphere of influence—she lies wracked with exhaustion, too much blood continuing to join what she has already shed.

No one seems to notice the presence of the gods in the room.

Eileithyia stands on one side of the bed, his master on the other. Ares approaches the child and traces his sigil onto its forehead in its mother’s blood when the nurse pauses in her ministrations for a moment. The glyph shimmers slightly in the lamplight before vanishing into the wrinkled skin as the imparted blessing is absorbed. The child will grow up strong and fierce, if it lives past weaning.

His sister gives him a nod and then slips out of the room, her part in these events completed. Ares takes her place at the bedside. The woman’s staring eyes seem to catch his, although he has no idea what if anything she sees. He traces his blessing onto her forehead as well. She has fought a battle today to bring her little one into the world, after all, and triumphed in the end though it has cost her life.

This place is sacred ground tonight.

Even watching carefully, he can barely mark the exact moment when his lord gathers her spirit to himself, so gently does it happen. But when Lord Thanatos says, “It is done,” the cold echo has faded from his voice and his eyes have lost their remoteness. “Do you have a shrine somewhere nearby?”

Ares nods and they head out into the streets, leaving the family to its mourning. The building he seeks is not much compared to the great temples in larger cities, but it is dedicated to him alone and has had sacrifices offered recently, so it should serve.

_Grant me swift victory against my enemies_

_Shed down a kindly ray from above upon my life, and strength of war, that I may be able to drive away bitter cowardice from my head and crush down the deceitful impulses of my soul*_

_My son has gone to be a soldier, protect him and bring him success_

The petitions come to his awareness as he approaches, so he takes a moment to receive the offerings and grant a few blessings. Then he summons his sword and traces along the doorposts with its point, and a shimmering portal opens to his house.

“I can’t speak completely freely, even here,” Lord Thanatos says once the passage has closed back up behind them, “but thank you, this helps. I’m sorry for being short with you before. As I said I am in a difficult situation here.” He reclines on his favourite couch and motions for Ares to join him. “Lord Hades opposes his escape. My mother supports it.”

Ares nods. “And so you are caught between them. As I said, if you wish for me to stay out of this entirely, you need only say the word. I don’t expect to be able to talk the others out of it. They hate to have their games spoiled, and will take any opportunity to indulge their curiosity or just annoy my uncle. But I can remove myself, at least.”

A hand comes up to caress Ares’ hair again. “No, I just…” He sighs. “I knew Zag was unhappy. I knew he was thinking about wanting to leave. But I wasn’t expecting him to just… make a run for it and try to break out by force. Without warning. Without saying anything.”

Zag, Ares notes. “I take it you are close?”

“I thought so, yes,” Lord Thanatos says. “Ever since he was still growing up. But then he went and did this.”

He makes a soft _tsch_ sound. “Anyway, I may not like it, but this thing is in motion now.” Then he pulls Ares close and places a kiss on the side of his neck. Ares sighs in pleasure and raises his chin to bare his throat further as his lord nibbles his way up. “I can’t openly help him, my love,” he murmurs into his ear. “But I don’t want him to fail. Help him for me?”

“Mmhh,” says Ares, then tries again. “If that is your will, my lord, I will give him strength to overcome all his foes.”

“As far as _anyone_ else is concerned,” Lord Thanatos goes on, “this conversation never happened, you understand?”

“I swear it, in my own name and that of your mother,” Ares says, and is rewarded with a nip at the spot just above his earlobe that never fails to make him gasp.

“Good. Now, shall we take advantage of the fact that you are already out of your armour?”

“I am _entirely_ at your disposal, my lord,” Ares says.

* * *

Later on, when he finally offers a boon to the underworld prince and feels it accepted, he finds it appropriate to be a little more cordial. “Perhaps you know a god called Thanatos? The two of us are very close associates, you know. Do give him my best wishes should you see him soon.”

* * *

*Excerpt from hymn to Ares quoted from http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.01.0138%3Ahymn%3D8 


	2. Chapter 2

Prince Zagreus is fascinating.

Ares gets veiled glimpses of him sometimes through the bond formed by the boon offerings. He can’t see his face, or hear his voice besides his boon choice, but he gets impressions of dark hair, pale skin, athletic form.

He can feel him kill, though.

Whatever Nyx and Athena did to forge the conduit by which the boons are offered, it has created a permanent bond, a spot in his awareness dedicated to the prince. The more boons Zagreus is carrying from him at a time, the more Ares can sense of how he moves and fights and feels. He catches flashes of pain or satisfaction or battle fury, and the occasional relief of a moment of respite. But even without any boons amplifying the connection, Ares can feel him kill. Every time he dispatches one of the shades of the underworld to a second death, it’s like an offering to him.

He wonders if the others get impressions based on their own domains. Maybe Dionysus feels it when he drinks, and Artemis when he uses a bow. His father and uncle? Heh, maybe they feel it when the prince sticks his dick somewhere it doesn’t belong.

At first, Zagreus is slow and halting. Not unskilled, Ares can tell, but not used to the powers he has been granted, and not used to the titan-slaying weapons he has somehow obtained. Early forays into the underworld are brief before he falls. But as fitting for a god of the underworld, once slain he rises again and it is not long before he tries again.

* * *

“Watch your left side,” Ares snaps.

Thanatos winces as the flat of Ares’ blade lands against his ribs. He staggers slightly and tries to rally, but Ares follows up with another series of blows ending with sweeping him clean off his feet.

A purple flash cushions him from hitting the ground, and he hovers there supine for a moment. “Ow,” he says.

Ares nudges him with his foot. “You’re usually better than this,” he says. “Are you all right?”

Thanatos sits up, rubbing at a fresh bruise on his shin. “Fine. Sorry. Give me a moment and we can go again.”

Here on the training ground, Ares is the master, and he regards his pupil with some skepticism. “I think perhaps you’ve had enough for one day.”

“No, I’m all right,” Thanatos says.

Ares has been giving him lessons in the sword and spear almost ever since they first got together. Thanatos has no real need for the combat techniques of mere mortals, but it is a pastime they can enjoy together, and he has applied himself diligently enough that if they both avoid using any divine abilities they can spar relatively freely.

Most of the time, anyway.

“You’re not,” he says. “You’re being reckless and undisciplined, and it’s making you make stupid mistakes. If we keep going I’m actually going to hurt you. We are done.” He leaves Thanatos to pick himself up and goes back into the house.

By the time he joins him, Ares is sitting in his armoury cleaning his practice sword and checking it over for damage. “I’m glad you didn’t just leave, my lord,” he says. “Are you ready to talk about whatever is bothering you now?”

Lord Thanatos skips taking a stool and just sits on the air to tend his own weapon. “It’s different,” he says eventually. “Combat. When it’s for real, I mean.”

Ares looks up. “From training? Certainly. But you knew that. You have seen many battlefields, watching me go about my work and the Keres go about theirs.”

“Yes, but that was always just… supervisory.”

Ares raises an eyebrow. “And now you are taking part? Why would you be getting involved in battles, all of a sudden?”

“The details aren’t important. But I feel so slow and clumsy, and there’s too much happening all around. It makes me feel sick. I thought maybe if I trained harder…”

Ares sets the sword aside. “My lord,” he says. “Once again, _why_ are you getting into combat, and not calling for my aid? Why haven’t I felt you in need of me?”

“I'm afraid that’s not an option, where it’s happening.”

Ares realizes what he means, and the bottom drops out of his stomach. “This is about your prince’s escape attempts,” he says. “You said you wouldn’t have to… Tell me you haven’t been sent against him after all.”

Lord Thanatos turns to him. “No, no, love,” he says quickly. “Not against. And not—sent.”

Ares lets out a low whistle. “Helping him directly behind my lord uncle’s back, now, are you?”

“You didn’t hear that from me.”

“Of course not, my sovereign.”

“And I haven’t even really been able to. So far I’ve been trying to thin out the legions sent against him a little, just before he gets somewhere, so they don’t have a chance to regroup fully. But…”

Ares pulls him into his lap and kisses him. “So what, you are just trying to run up to a crowd of enemies and hit them with a sharp object? Which is of course what I would do, but that’s because I am an unsophisticated savage and hitting enemies with sharp objects gives me immense satisfaction.”

Thanatos frowns. “Don’t say that about yourself,” he says. “But no, I’m using my own powers, of course. I’ve just never used them _in combat_ before. And it’s different against targets that are already dead. Takes more time, more concentration. I thought doing some more weapons work with you would at least help with the basic idea. But… _tsch,_ it’s ridiculous that I can’t keep my head. They can’t even hurt me.”

Ares kisses him again. “My lord, your senses get overwhelmed just from being on most parts of the surface too long,” he says. “It’s not a failing, it’s just that you’re meant for precision, not brute force. Let me be your champion as usual. If I can’t help you in person—”

“You can’t. You try breaking into the underworld again and Lord Hades will have your head. He’d chain you up in Tartarus where not even I could find you.”

“I am aware,” Ares says calmly, though the thought makes him shudder inside. “He made that quite clear to me at the time. Pray allow me to continue. If I can’t help you in person, I will find another way. Let me think on it, hmm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a conversation in game between Than and Zag where Than mentions that being on the surface too long makes him sick, but it's not the same way it makes Zag sick, it's a "too many sensations" thing. So I am totally headcannoning him as having a sensory processing issue and our boy Ares is gonna figure out a way to help him with it so he can actually start kicking ass and ambushing Zag during his escape attempts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes for chapter 3: bullying, violence, past trauma, and brief reference to a sexual situation that is… let’s call it dubiously consensual on both sides given the circumstances.
> 
> TL;DR: Olympians are assholes, but Ares gets what he needs.

Ares does not spend much time on Olympus these days, much preferring his home in Thrace. But he does maintain a house here, still, for the times he can’t avoid visiting, and he is pleased to note that Enyo, Phobos, and Deimos have been keeping the House of War in good repair in his absence. His destination today isn’t far, but he doesn’t rush. 

Hephaestus’ estate is a sprawling complex of workshops, and he asks directions of the Cyclops Arges puttering about in the front yard to find where to go to find the master of the house today.

He is never sure which is the greater source for the vague guilt he always feels visiting his brother: the matter of Aphrodite, or being reminded of how, although he likes to complain about his difficult relationship with his parents, at least he has the distinction of only being his mother’s  _ second _ least-favourite child.

It still takes him a couple of tries, but he eventually finds the right building. “Hephaestus,” he says. “Did you get my message?”

“Ares!” the smith god booms. “Come on in, get comfortable.”

This must be one of his smallest and most cluttered workshops, and it feels even more so since Brontes and Steropes are also inside. Ares wonders if Hephaestus did this deliberately to annoy him, knowing his dislike of cramped spaces. He takes a seat on the stool across from his brother’s stone workbench.

“So,” Hephaestus says. “How are you keeping? Any good wars going on?”

Ares sighs. “Things are well, all the better for your asking,” he says dutifully. He knows what is coming next.

“Fucked anyone’s wife lately?”

“Must we do this every time?” he asks. “You always knew Aphrodite was going to do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted. You never did anything about it until I was the one she was doing it with.” 

Hephaestus grins. “Now, now, brother,” he says. “You are here in my home, asking me for a favour. My house, my rules. Be polite and engage in some friendly small talk.”

Ares refuses to let his voice rise. “Fine,” he says. “How is your lovely Aglaea?”

“Off-limits to you,” Hephaestus says cheerfully.

Ares clenches his jaw and lets his brother bring up various past grievances for several minutes. He came here because out of the two principal gods of craftsmanship, Hephaestus’ open hostility is preferable to Athena’s sneeringly polite contempt, but only just.

Finally Hephaestus pulls out a lump of metal about the size of a fig and sets it on the table before him. “So, you’re wanting some kind of keepsake that will let the bearer see a battlefield the same way you do.”

Ares perks up. “Yes,” he says. “Something that will let them focus in on important details and filter out the rest. Can you do it?”

“Of course I can do it. Does it need to look like anything in particular?”

“Like I said in my message, not too obvious. But other than that it doesn’t matter. It just has to work.”

“Great, I’ll make it invisible.” He takes out a small hammer and taps at the metal. After a moment it glows red, then orange, then yellow, then white. Ares watches, fascinated in spite of his irritation, as he begins to work the softened metal without a forge.

After several minutes, Hephaestus has created a crude flattish shape. He sets down his tools and picks up a small knife marked with magical sigils. “Bleed for me, brother,” he says, passing him the knife. “I need your essence.”

Ares nods, pricks his thumb, and stretches out his hand.

Hephaestus grabs his wrist. “You want your bearer to see like a tailor?” he says. “Bleed like a warrior for me.” He takes the knife back and scores a deep gash across Ares’ entire palm. Ares’ hiss of pain is drowned by the sizzle as his ichor hits the glowing metal. 

The smoke smells like a battlefield. 

“There,” Hephaestus says, and lets him go.

Ares holds the cut closed for a few minutes until it heals over. When he is able to pay attention again, Hephaestus has formed the metal back up into a lump. Now he reaches into a drawer, pulls out something that jingles slightly, and tosses it onto the table. It lands in a faintly shimmering bundle that sounds like metal but drapes almost like—

—a net woven of extremely fine transparent chain.

Ares doesn’t even realize he has leapt over the worktable until he has already tackled his brother to the ground with an incoherent cry of rage. There’s no room to maneuver in this enclosed space, but that doesn’t matter, there is a dagger in his hand now and he is stabbing downward  _ kill kill kill _

The blade scrapes against the armour Hephaestus is wearing under his apron, and then there are hands on him pulling him off, Brontes and Steropes dragging him back and although he is trying desperately to twist out of their grasp the Cyclopes are enormous and each of them alone is stronger than he is.

“Temper, temper, brother mine,” Hephaestus chuckles, completely unfazed as he picks himself back up. “It’s a complicated enchantment, and it’s easier to spread and transfer than it is to build from scratch. I’m just using it to turn your trinket invisible. So are you ready to be civilized now, or do we need to tie you down?”

Ares’ vision goes red around the edges again, but this time after a brief struggle he just goes limp in the Cyclopes’ grasp. They set him back down on the stool, but he can feel at least one of them still looming behind him. “Could you not have done that part before I got here?” he asks hoarsely when his breath has slowed enough for him to speak. “Or did it need my blood first?”

Hephaestus is holding the bundle of chain to the metal with a richly ornamented set of tongs and muttering to himself with a frown of concentration. He doesn’t answer.

Ares focuses on his breathing.  _ Stop letting him bait you, _ he tells himself.  _ Don’t give him the satisfaction. _ But it’s hard not to have an instinctive reaction to something that was used against him in such a cruel way.

He doesn’t remember all the details of what happened after Hephaestus sprang the net trap around him and Aphrodite.

He remembers struggling, screaming, fighting like a wounded animal. He remembers the walls seeming to close in around him like the Aloadae’s _pithos_ where he had spent a year trapped and chained.

More dimly, he remembers the way Aphrodite defended herself from his blind rage and panic the only way she could, using her power to steer him into a blind lust instead and wear him out into an exhausted stupor in front of the laughing and leering onlookers. 

They conceived Phobos and Deimos that day.

He is still not entirely certain exactly which of the Olympians came to laugh or how many of them there were (although he knows for sure that his father was there), but oh, he remembers their laughter. They all thought it was just a grand joke to humiliate him with his lover and have never understood why he took it so hard. Even Aphrodite, once her own indignation cooled, questioned why he moved away from Olympus to Thrace shortly thereafter. 

Only Hermes, who claims to have tried to put a stop to it at the time, has never made light of it. A little surprising, given how he makes light of most things, but, well, he is the one who released Ares from the Aloadae, after all, and saw the kind of shape he’d been in. Perhaps he has some sympathy for Ares’ extreme aversion to any kind of binding ever since then.

Hephaestus finally looks up from his work. “Oh sure I could have treated it first, but where’s the fun in that?” he says with a grin. “You want something from me, brother mine, you pay my price. And my price is the look on your face when I remind you of what a pathetic little shit you are. Now bleed for me again.”

Ares grits his teeth and offers his arm once more. The sooner this is over with, the sooner he can get off this fucking mountain.

* * *

He leaves with a pair of tiny curved discs each no bigger than a fingertip. “Tell whoever it is to put them over their eyes,” Hephaestus said when putting them into a small padded case. “They’ll feel uncomfortable at first but they’ll adjust to fit.”

His brother may hate him, but he would never sabotage his own work or let anything less than perfect leave his shop. Still, Ares figures he will caution Lord Thanatos to try them out first in a controlled environment, just to be sure.

First, though, he is going to find a battle or two in the mortal realm to join, because he needs some good honest bloodshed to wash the taste of Olympus out of his mouth before he’ll be fit company for anybody, much less his lord.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The game hints a bit at how little respect Ares generally gets from his fellow Olympians, but the actual mythology goes much farther. Most of the stories featuring him involve him getting beaten up, trapped, or otherwise humiliated. Of course, they all consider themselves much better and more civilized than him...


	4. Chapter 4

Ares didn’t realize that the enchanted eye-caps would let him see into the underworld.

It’s not consistent, more like the brief impressions he gets from Prince Zagreus sometimes during his escape attempts. But when his lord is using that fragment of his soul that Hephaestus attuned to the tiny discs, he can sometimes see through his eyes.

This is how he gets his first good look at the prince.

The bond he shares with Zagreus has been growing with his increasing prowess in combat as well as the offerings that he has begun making to him. Being worshipped is nothing new to Ares, of course, and he expects the prince is making offerings to the other gods helping him as well, but there is something charmingly sincere about the young god’s prayers of gratitude, so different from the usual petitions to grant victory or smite enemies.

_ Lord Ares, I honor you for all the strength you’ve given me to overcome all my foes _

_ Lord Ares, it is my privilege to have met you, and have learned your death-inflicting way _

With each offering, his sense of what Zagreus experiences in his escape attempts, at least as far as it touches on his own domain, becomes stronger. Sometimes he even gets an impression of what he is fighting: bloodless warriors, weird amalgams of object and spirit, a great multi-headed skeletal creature. But he still never gets a clear picture of Zagreus himself, until the day his lord first assists the prince directly in battle.

Ares can tell Zagreus is nearing the end of his endurance—he is somewhere in Elysium, wounded and tired, and Ares knows that he doesn’t recover from injuries as quickly as gods usually do. It has been some time since he came across the sustenance that usually helps him heal, and he hasn’t managed to find whatever blessing he found a couple of attempts ago that dramatically restored him. He has done well, but it will likely not be long now before he falls again.

Then there is a green flash, and abruptly Ares can see him from the outside.

Dark hair and pale skin he already knew, but now he gets a clearer look. He looks young, but not in the way that gods like Hermes or his lord Thanatos look young, affecting a youthful appearance by preference. Rather, he is young with the slightly unfinished look of one genuinely just entering his prime, probably no more than a century old at most, and strikingly handsome as a god should be. He fights like a man born to it, zipping around the field with supernatural speed and grace. No surprises there, but Ares notices two things that do surprise him.

First, Zagreus’ injuries bleed red like a mortal, not gold like a god.

Second, one of his eyes is red and seems to be always at least partially hidden in shadow, but the other is green as new spring grass, and his short hair lies in spiky curls, in a style that seems somehow familiar.

He cannot get as good a look as he would like, since his lord is concentrating on the fight and only sometimes checking on Zagreus as they battle together, and once the combat is done the eye-discs stop sending him impressions. He can tell something is happening that is making Zagreus feel tense and unhappy, but he has no idea of the actual details. 

His lord warps away again before Zagreus enters the next chamber. But his assistance made a difference—there is a healing fountain up next, and it restores him enough that he is finally able to topple the annoying demigod hero that guards the way out of Elysium. And while he falls shortly thereafter, for the first time he slays and is slain by something living. Mere vermin, sure, but it means he has breached as far as the near-surface. 

Surely it won't be long now.

* * *

“Why does Athena think the prince is your brother?” Ares asks the next time he sees his lord. There is a food shortage in an army encampment, causing both illnesses and fights to break out, which is as good an excuse as any to spend some time together.

Lord Thanatos’ hood is pulled almost completely over his face to shade his eyes from the sun, but Ares can see his mouth form into an absent frown. “Hmm?” he says, still clearly focused on his work. “What prince? Whose brother?”

“Prince Zagreus,” Ares says, and Lord Thanatos’ attention finally drifts towards him. “Why did Athena say he was your mother’s child? He’s obviously not.”

“What are you talking about?”

A soldier trips, and Ares aggravates his irritation into a certainty that it was the man behind him instead of the branch hidden beneath the snow. It’s petty, but on a day like this without actual battles he works with the material he has available. “I mean, I guess the rest of the Olympians don’t pay enough attention to the Chthonics to really notice–except Hermes I guess but I don’t think he's part of this–but all of Night’s children that I have encountered have a certain… feel to them. Your prince doesn’t have that feel. But Athena said he was Nyx’s child. I’m pretty sure I mentioned that.”

Lord Thanatos turns back towards the nearby tents. “Mother Nyx raised him as her son,” he says after a few minutes. “What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t, I guess,” Ares says. Not for the first time he wishes his lover was a little more expressive sometimes. It can be hard to tell if he is annoyed, bored, or merely distracted.

“He’s made it as far as the surface the last few tries,” Ares says. “This has been an enjoyable way to indirectly get to know my new cousin, but I am looking forward to meeting him properly soon. You will introduce us personally, lord, won’t you? I’d hate for him to be mostly going off of whatever my other relatives have to say about me.”

Lord Thanatos makes a noncommittal noise. “Hermes can get the rest of these,” he says. “I’m running late. I’ll talk to you later.”

Or possibly trying to hide something, Ares considers as the space beside him is suddenly empty. But why?

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Zagreus makes several more attempts, each one ending in a great battle where he falls. Ares has an even hazier sense of that fight, just that it is a mighty and powerful enemy. 

He has barely seen Lord Thanatos in the meantime, and even when he has it hasn’t been for long. After a few more abortive attempts, he stops bringing up anything to do with Zagreus, because that is a sure way to get him to suddenly find work he needs to do and disappear. 

Ares doesn’t care if there are things going on in the Underworld that he is not privy to. But for his lover to be so evasive about something that Ares is actually involved in is frustrating. Especially something that involves so many other Olympians. Getting caught up in the schemes of other Olympians without knowing enough of the details is a great way to find oneself stabbed in the guts by Athena’s minions, for example, he has found. 

But it’s his lord asking him to stay involved in this, and he trusts his lord.

So he doesn’t ask about the red blood, and he doesn’t ask about the green eye. And he certainly doesn’t mention a certain long-missing green-eyed goddess with spiky hair, like Dionysus half mortal but more than a demigod. He'd briefly tried to court that goddess once, sensing that she had just as little patience for the squabbling and bullying of most of Olympus as he did, though she hadn't returned his regard. Zagreus will make it out soon. Surely all will be revealed and things can go back to normal.

Then one day, Zagreus makes it to the surface and… a few days later starts again.

He didn’t die in combat. Ares always knows when he dies in combat.

And then it happens again.

Something must be stopping him after he leaves the underworld. Or maybe something is trapping him even once he passes the final battle? He must need help.

There are many ways into the Underworld. How hard can it be to find the one that is also the current way out? Especially given that he is linked to the one making the escape. He’s no Artemis, but once he gets into the right general vicinity, he expects he should be able to locate the prince once he is close enough to the exit.

Two attempts later, the Fates smile on him. Zagreus is wearing an item attuned to Lord Thanatos, and he and his lord can always find each other no matter where they are, as long as they are both in the same realm. Concentrating on it gives him a general sense of direction as Zagreus attains the near-surface and begins attacking the vermin living just underground, so that by the time his climactic battle is underway, he has arrived in an isolated section of coastal mountains and is pretty sure he has it narrowed down to one of a small handful of openings in the rock face that he can see from the high vantage point he has chosen higher up the slope. He crouches down at the base of a tree and waits, confident there is no one around but wearing a mortal guise just in case.

Sure enough, in the early pre-dawn light, a figure eventually emerges from one of the cave entrances. 

He looks small from here, but it’s unmistakably Zagreus, dressed in red, using his spear as a walking stick and leaving a trail of melted snow and scorched grass where his bare feet touch the ground. He seems tired but determined, following a narrow twisting path towards the east, and Ares smiles to himself as he gets up and begins to make his way down towards him.

Then something bowls him over.

Ares rolls back to his feet on instinct, dropping his mortal guise, spear appearing in his hands. He whirls around towards his attacker, lashing out with his weapon even before he knows who or what his opponent is.

For a disorienting instant he sees himself from the outside as his spear turns to dust in his hands and his feet slip out from under him on the vegetation turned suddenly to rotten slime. A winged, cloaked figure looms over him, scythe raised.

They stare at each other in shock for a moment. Then Death lowers his weapon. “What the hell are you doing here?” 


	5. Chapter 5

Ares is unable to maintain his usual composure. “What the hell am  _ I _ doing here? What are  _ you _ doing?” He looks at his empty hands. “That was my favourite spear! I was almost ready to name it and pass it down to some worthy mortal or demigod!”

(Ares does not wield legendary weapons. Weapons become legendary because he has wielded them.)

Lord Thanatos glares down at him. “Don’t change the subject. What do you think you’re doing here?”

“What does it look like?” Ares demands. “I’m here to help him. Like you  _ asked _ me to, remember?” He looks past him to see the figure still picking his way along the path to the east.

Lord Thanatos drifts in front of him, blocking his view. “I—ugh. This isn’t what I meant. He doesn’t need your help right now. And he certainly doesn’t need you to be spying on him. This place… you shouldn’t be here.”

“Spying?” Ares shuffles over to where the ground is not so slippery underfoot. He is still a little shaken by how brutally quickly he was disarmed. “What has gotten into you? I was watching for him to come out so I could  _ help _ him. I know he’s made it to the surface before, but he obviously hasn’t made it far. I thought I could find him, pick him up, drop him off at Olympus, maybe do a little sightseeing on the way…”

He stops when he sees the look on his face. Realization dawns.

“You shouldn't be here,” Thanatos says again, more quietly. He isn’t meeting Ares’ eyes.

“He’s not  _ trying _ to get to Olympus," Ares says. 

Thanatos grimaces. “Something about the surface disagrees with him,” he says quickly. “It seems he can’t survive long outside the Underworld.”

Ares tries to look around him again. Zagreus seems to have passed around a bend. “If that’s the case, why keep doing it? Why not call off the experiment?”

No answer.

“Why is he here?”

He gets a flash of perception as his enchanted eye-caps take in the shift in his stance, the set of his shoulders. “Why is he  _ here?!” _

Thanatos still isn’t looking him in the eyes. “He’s looking for something,” he says sullenly. “I can’t tell you more than that.”

“It was  _ never _ about Olympus, was it?” Ares shouts. There is a muffled quality to the sound around them now, as if the air has gone dead. “He’s using  _ my _ power. I have a  _ right _ to know.  _ What is he looking for?!” _

The air takes on a greenish tinge.

“Fine,” Ares says. “You don’t want to give me answers, you want to run away again, go ahead. I’ll go down there and see for myself where he’s going.”

The green tinge fades. “Don’t you dare.”

“Your mother lied to us.”

No answer.

“You lied to me.” Another dual perception as he sees his fists clench. “You  _ lied _ to me!”

“I never said anything to you about where he was going!” Thanatos snaps.

“Don’t give me that. You knew it was a lie and you let me believe it!” He sees himself mirrored as he takes a step towards the other god. “You know what you  _ could _ have done? You could have said, ‘it’s a little more complicated than that but trust me.’ You could have said, ‘there are things I can’t tell you but there’s something else going on.’ Instead of  _ deceiving me _ and then getting mad because I  _ did _ what you  _ asked _ me to! I know everyone  _ else _ thinks I am just a stupid brute, but I thought at least you had a better opinion of me than that.”

“I don’t think you’re stupid!”

“What happened to his mother?” Ares demands. “What happened to Persephone?”

Thanatos is always kind of ashen, but now he goes completely pale.

“So she  _ is _ his mother, isn’t she,” Ares says. “He looks like her. Demeter thinks she was killed by mortals, but that’s not what happened, is it.”

He is seeing himself mirrored in Thanatos’ eyes constantly now.

“She’s been punishing the world with long winters and poor harvests for generations now. I’ve been worried she’s going to cause a full on ice age if Father or someone doesn’t stop her. If she found out now that it was never a mortal after all…”

“Why do you think Lord Hades has been trying so hard to keep him from  _ leaving?” _ Thanatos yells. His eyes are watering, though it’s hard to be sure if he’s crying or just reacting to the bright morning light.

“So, what, is Nyx  _ trying _ to start a war between Olympus and the Underworld? Or just tricking Olympus into furthering her own agenda and hoping they won’t notice?”

Thanatos looks away. “I don’t question Mother Nyx.”

“Does your prince even know why she’s encouraging this?”

Thanatos floats a little higher and he lifts his scythe into a defensive position. “I said I don’t question her!” There are power harmonics in his voice now.

A sword comes into Ares’ hand reflexively. He dismisses it lest it suffer the same fate as his spear. “If she wants a war, maybe we should have one,” he says. “Maybe  _ you _ don’t care what happens on the surface and letting society collapse is just fine to you, but I happen to  _ like _ the mortal world! I’d rather not see it continue to freeze and starve for no good reason. So let’s have it out, then!”

Thanatos’ eyes widen in shock, then narrow with anger. “So that’s how it is,” he says, voice gaining even more harmonics that echo strangely in the muffled air. “After all the time we’ve been together. I thought I knew you better than that.” A dark violet aura begins to surround him. “So be it. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t let you go back with this information.”

Ares’ rage, which up to now has been burning hotter and hotter, turns to ice in his veins.

When he speaks again, his tone is low and quiet. It might even seem calm, if not for the battle roar of his own power harmonics. “I thought you knew me better than that, too,” he says. “After all the time we’ve been together. You want to, what? Kill me?  _ Bind _ me? Because you think I would  _ spy _ for them?” A sword comes into his hand again and this time he lets it stay. “Because you think if there was going to be a war, I would actually be on  _ their _ side?” 

He reaches up with his free hand as Thanatos’ aura flickers out and his eyes go wide again, and yanks him down by the front of his robe until they are nose to nose. “How.  _ Dare.  _ You.”

He shoves him away and turns his back. “Your secrets are safe with me,” he says coldly. “I’ll even swear it by the Styx if you want. If my word isn’t  _ enough _ for you.”

Thanatos’ voice is a broken sob. “Wait—”

Ares reaches out his awareness to find the nearest armed conflict, and is gone to it in a flash.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note for Chapter 6: Aphrodite shows up. She does Aphrodite things. (there's some sex, not explicit though)

Ares steps through to his home via the door of a shrine, exhausted and smelling of carnage. 

The last several days have been a blur of violence: riots, blood feuds, escalating skirmishes. Several new wars have broken out on the surface and a couple of existing ones now have the potential to spread into a more widespread conflict. He’s making a lot of work for himself and his family, but future considerations have not exactly been at the top of his mind.

Enyo and the boys took one look at his face and decided to stay out of his way, choosing instead to oversee hotspots after he moves on. They’ll join him eventually once the big battles start.

But for now, his fury has burned itself out and he’s just… tired. He stands in the middle of the room as the evening light dwindles, not sure he can take another step or even jog his brain into telling him what to do next.

A figure emerges from the corridor and waves a hand to illuminate the lamps. “Darling, I felt your heart break last week. Is there someone I can smite for you?” 

Ares blinks stupidly. “Aphrodite?”

“Yes, dearest,” she says. “The kids and I are worried about you.” 

She comes a little closer to him, then stops and wrinkles her nose. “I’m sorry, dear. I mean this in entirely the most respectful and affectionate way possible, but you are  _ utterly disgusting _ right now. Come here and let’s get you cleaned up.” She reaches out her hand, and he lets her tow him along in her wake through the house until they get to the armoury.

“The boys will run you a bath,” she says as she reaches for the fastenings of his helmet.

“I thought the boys were with Enyo,” he says.

She rolls her eyes. “The  _ other _ boys, darling,” she says. “Eros and Anteros came over with me. I told you we were worried.” 

“Oh,” he says.

She lifts the helmet off his head and sets it down on the worktable, and for all that she complained, there is no hesitation or squeamishness in her movements. Her lovely cream-coloured robe is getting soiled with blood and mud and who knows what else as she continues stripping his equipment off, but whenever she notices, she just makes a small gesture and is immaculate again.

They can take shortcuts if they want. Ares probably would have if she hadn’t been here, though he usually prefers not to. But right now it’s nice to have someone take care of him.

“You really  _ are _ a wreck, dear, aren’t you?” she says. “ _ Please  _ tell me I can smite them for you. I haven’t done a good smiting in ever so long. What would you like? Spectacularly horrific death? Or I could turn them into something dreadfully ironic, that’s always fun.”

He reaches up and stops her hands for a moment. “No smiting,” he says.

“What, not even a little?” She pouts. “Can I at least curse them never to have another orgasm as long as they live? Or did you already do your own smiting? That’s no fair, you  _ know _ avenging heartbreak is my bit.”

“No smiting,” he repeats, more firmly. “Besides, in this case I doubt you could even if I wanted you to.”

She frowns at him for a moment, and then her mouth drops open. “Wait, your little death god? But you  _ worship _ him. Like, not even metaphorically.” Her eyes blaze with sudden fury. “What did he do to you? I’m going to—”

_ “No. Smiting.” _ He sighs. “We had a fight. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But… the two of you don’t fight. You don’t even bicker. You’re  _ adorable _ together. The way you try  _ so hard _ to be submissive even though—.”

Ares closes his eyes. “Please. Can we not, right now?”

After a moment her arms come around him and she kisses him. He kisses her back, of course, because she’s Aphrodite, but she keeps it relatively chaste and doesn’t draw it out too long. “I’m sorry, darling,” she says when they break apart. “It just bothers me to see you like this.” She taps him on the nose with one delicate finger. “No one’s allowed to break your heart but me.”

Ares snorts. “Must you?”

“Well, maybe not today.” She finishes getting his gear off and setting it all out on the worktable, and swats him gently away when he starts moving towards it. “No, dearest,” she says. “You can deal with it tomorrow, or we can take care of it for you.” She puts up a chiding finger when he opens his mouth to object. “Don’t try to argue with me. I’m a war goddess in Laconia, you know.”

“Yes, dear, I know,” he says, with the smallest ghost of a smile. “I knew there was something I liked about you.”

She takes him through to the bathing room, which has indeed been prepared though their sons have left them their privacy, and finishes removing the last of his clothing. There’s nothing sensual about the way that she’s touching him, but it  _ is _ Aphrodite whether she’s trying or not. She knows he’s not really in the mood, though, and just gives him a questioning look. “Want me to—”

He nods, and just like that his arousal fades. 

She helps him scrub off the battlefield grime, and then once he is soaking neck deep, she takes warm water and a comb and works the matted filth out of his hair, humming a vague little tune all the while to fill in the silence without needing words from either of them.

And that’s the thing about Aphrodite. She’s utterly aggravating much of the time, but there’s a reason they keep coming back to each other. 

The boys have left a pitcher and a couple of cups behind, and she sniffs the contents, then pours some for them both. “Drink up, dearest, you’ll feel better.”

It turns out to be water generously infused with nectar. Full strength would go straight to his head right now, but this just warms his insides with a gentle tingling and soothes the aches that he knows are only there because he thinks they ought to be. He’ll have to thank them tomorrow when he sees them, he thinks, as he sinks into a pleasant haze under Aphrodite’s continued ministrations.

Eventually she fishes him out of the bath, dries him off, and bundles him into bed, snuggled up by her side. He falls asleep almost immediately.

* * *

When he wakes up, he feels rested enough that he no longer needs Aphrodite to hold his responses to her at bay, and they spend most of the morning getting reacquainted. 

It begins with gentle kisses and soft words, then moves on to caresses and laughter as they resume their old patterns. It’s been a while since they were last together, several years by mortal reckoning, but they never have much trouble picking up where they last left off.

Ares has had many lovers, but only Aphrodite is Aphrodite.

She is infuriating in her refusal to indulge his preference for a stable hierarchical relationship. If he tries to assert himself, she asserts right back. If he tries to submit, she just laughs and tells him it ill suits him. “I have all the minions I need, darling,” she told him once, “and I have no wish for a master. You’ll have me on your own level or not at all.” 

So they jockey for position, each trying to claim the lead in the dance, and if it was anyone else he’d have gotten frustrated and abandoned it as an incompatible match. But Aphrodite knows how to keep it playful, so that it becomes a contest but not a struggle, and for brief periods at a stretch it is deliriously fun.

They have learned to keep their dalliances short-lived, because too long and they  _ will _ get on each other’s nerves for one reason or another, usually involving whatever bit of petty Olympian bullshit drama she might try to draw him into. But they always come back to each other eventually.

One of the things that has kept him from self-doubt in the face of the disdain of most of his Olympian kin is the fact that out of everyone she could have chosen,  _ he _ is the one who caught her fancy. This embodiment of beauty and passion, this uncontrollable force of nature,  _ she _ has chosen him to be her preferred consort and father of most of her children.

Today she is more indulgent with him than she sometimes is, letting him set the pace and going nowhere near any of his limits. Sometimes he wants more of a challenge, but she knows this is not one of those days. So their lovemaking is sweet and unhurried. He even ends up having her take him into herself, which he doesn’t usually do with a partner unless they specifically ask him to beget a child on them. Normally he prefers other ways of giving and receiving pleasure, whether with men or women, that are less reminiscent of weapons sliding into flesh, but after the last several days’ catharsis, he feels placid enough not to feel uncomfortable with it. And Aphrodite understands how far of a space he needs to keep between the battlefield and the bedroom and knows how to let him be as gentle as he needs to be.

“Better now?” she asks finally as they lie together after several rounds.

He kisses her again. “Much better, love,” he says. “Thank you. I really needed that. All of it.”

“Are you  _ sure _ I can’t smite him, just a little?”

“Yes, dear, quite sure,” he says. “We had a fight, and I lost my temper, but I think I’m feeling myself again, thanks to you. We’ll work it out, I’m sure.”

“Good,” she says, snuggling closer. “Because you really are the cutest thing ever when you get all rhapsodic about the inherent poetic inevitability of war being a servant of death and all that.”

He smiles. “Well, if it entertains you, then I must patch it up, if for no other reason.”

“Quite so, dear.” She stretches. “I suppose we should get up. The boys will be wanting to see you, and then I guess you’ll have some wars to look after that you started while you were having your little tantrum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a reason you never want to choose against Aphrodite in a Trial of the gods.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes for Chapter 7: gratuitous Trojan War references

The tricky thing about reconciling with someone is that you have to get back in contact with them first.

The conflicts he sparked during his rampage have turned into one of the periodic blowups between Athens and Sparta, which means it’s gotten  _ political _ as his sister always insists on meddling on behalf of her favourite city. Usually he doesn’t take sides, but when she gets involved he’s generally on whatever side she’s not, and he’s quite fond of the Spartans. 

It’s been a while since he's been this busy, and with his whole retinue along with him most of the time it's been hard to get much time to himself. Not that it isn’t nice to have some family outings with his fellow aspects of War, but it makes slipping away for a private rendezvous difficult.

Not that there’s even been potential for such a rendezvous. Any time there is a lull in the fighting, Thanatos is either not in the mortal realm at all, or moving around so quickly that there would be no way to track him down. It’s not that this is  _ that _ unusual, but after it drags out beyond a few weeks Ares gets the distinct sense that he is being avoided.

So he eventually appeals to a higher authority, making inquiries via the short messages accompanying his boons to Prince Zagreus, which he had resumed albeit with some ambivalence. He sleeps under the sky on a moonless night after burning incense and pouring out a libation of nectar in honour of Lady Night, hoping he might receive some answers.

Answers he receives, although he doesn’t remember the actual conversation. All he knows is that he wakes up with the first light of dawn in his eyes, feeling that he no longer has to worry about whether or not to continue supporting the prince’s activities, and that he has been given the trust of the Lady in return, in the form of a veil he can don at night to hide himself from the far-reaching senses of his fellow gods at need, and the location of a small, recently abandoned cottage with an unusually fertile garden. 

He has the sense that she wants him to look in on it when he has the chance, for sentimental reasons, and he does so some nights when he is able to slip away, tending the crops with an ease that might surprise anyone who doesn’t know that he has (or possibly will have—time is a little strange where gods are concerned) a strong agricultural aspect under another name. There are no personal effects remaining there, but there is enough residual power in the soil to tell him exactly whom the prince had been seeking. Maybe someday he will find out why.

Still, Thanatos continues to avoid him. 

* * *

He’s not sure if it is coincidence or not that shortly after his conversation, or whatever it was, with Nyx, he receives an unusually fine offering from the prince, not just nectar but ambrosia, with the usual message of thanksgiving for aiding him in battle but also a personal note of simply being pleased to know him and be his cousin. Ares is charmed, and is sure to tell him that if he ever does get drawn into a real war, he can be assured that Ares would be on his side.

He doesn’t know why the prince continues to make his voyages to the surface now that his goal has been accomplished, but he does, albeit a little less frequently and with less of a sense of urgency. Ares watches over him sometimes if he is nearby, at first with the hope that Thanatos might appear to bring him home given his apparent inability to survive long in the mortal realm, but Zagreus seems to need no such conveyance. He falls, then simply dissolves into a reddish mist that dissipates completely within a few minutes. Fascinating, really.

Still, Ares continues to check in on him from time to time when his schedule permits, because he has never seen anyone so delighted to explore the world, nor so completely devoid of any sense of self-preservation. He supposes if he was a god of death and rebirth who only ever had hours to live, he too would try eating everything, touching everything, climbing everything. While he does sometimes just seem to run out of life and sicken quietly, the sheer variety of misadventure he gets up to is astonishing.

Sometimes he is almost tempted to disguise himself as a mortal to be able to explain such things as “that there is a bear, sir. No, sir, that’s not the way you tame one.” But it’s far more entertaining to just see what happens.

He’s impressed at how  _ small _ Zagreus is, for a god. He’s a decent size for a mortal, but most full gods are head and shoulders taller than even the greatest mortals or demigods unless they make a point of altering their shape to be smaller. Ares remembers Persephone being tiny as well, but Hades is enormous. One would have thought he would have taken after his father at least a little.

He decides to leave an offering in return for the ones he has received, and sets an old battle axe out along one of the paths as if dropped by a passing soldier. He can’t stay long enough to see it discovered, but the next time he visits, he sees that it has been tucked carefully away near the cave entrance, wrapped in some canvas, and signs of its enthusiastic use are in evidence on the nearby trees.

Weeks pass, and the mortals’ appetite for war dwindles as the seasons change, and he begins to wonder if it might be possible for him to finally track Thanatos down, when he receives a strange message from Zagreus, meant to be decoded alongside others sent to his fellow Olympians. He passes it on immediately to his father and lets him deal with it, not wanting to be part of the family shouting match that will undoubtedly result. They’ll let him know what it’s about once they figure it out.

* * *

Charon’s boat can hold a lot of mortals at need, but it probably isn’t possible for it to ever be big enough for it not to feel crowded with this many Olympians on board.

Ares is at one end, Athena at the other, with the rest filling in the middle. “I’m so looking forward to this, darling,” Aphrodite says to him as they travel down the Styx. “It will be so much fun to finally meet our little godling! He’s never seen me with clothes on before.”

“Really, dear? You appeared to him naked?”

“Oh, certainly, they always expect it, and I do so like to make people happy.” She gestures down at her golden silk gown. “Do you think I look nice?”

“You always look stunning, dear,” he says with complete honesty.

What she doesn’t look is pregnant. She never does. But she is apparently expecting another child from him, which is delightful. He loves all his children, even the ones he barely knows because they were born from a fleeting encounter—if a worshipper requests a child by him, sometimes he obliges. But the ones from more lasting relationships are particularly special to him, and the ones born to Aphrodite even more so because as full gods he doesn’t have to worry about mourning them later.

This one will be named Harmonia, she has informed him.

“You say the nicest things,” she says, and kisses him enthusiastically enough to make his knees go weak.

“Ugh, gross,” says Artemis. “Dad, make them stop canoodling.”

“If we were canoodling, sweetie,” says Aphrodite, “you would know it. Look, we’ve still got all our clothes on and everything.”

Ares gently dislodges her hands from where they have started delving inside the folds of his himation, as Artemis stomps off to the other end of the boat. “Let’s keep it that way, dear,” he says. “Not in front of the dirty old men.”

Not that he wouldn’t welcome the distraction, honestly, heading into the Underworld for the first time since he was banned for trespassing so long ago. He is looking forward to formally meeting Zagreus at last, but nervous about the possibility of reconnecting with Thanatos, and even more nervous about the possibility of  _ not  _ reconnecting with him. Aphrodite can sense he is on edge and is trying to help in her own way, but… well. Not in front of the dirty old men. 

He has brought gifts. He isn’t sure if any of the others have.

“Hey,” Artemis is saying. “What’s that up there?”

Ares puts on his helmet and looks where she is pointing. In the gloom of Tartarus, it is just possible to see some kind of gate up ahead. And standing in front of the gate is a dead man.

As they get closer, they can see that he looks as splendid as he ever did in life, cloaked in green and wearing a circlet atop his curly blond hair. But to a god’s divine senses it is easy to tell that this is no longer a creature of flesh and blood and bone—there is a kind of hollowness to his presence.

“Is that… Achilles?” Aphrodite asks, her tone frosty, as they all move up closer to the bow of the boat to get a better look. “That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

“If he wanted to be rude, it would have been Helen,” says Athena.

“I believe Achilles’ shade is employed in Lord Hades’ household,” says Ares. “Perhaps the choice of guard is simply to remind us of the unfortunate things that can happen when we all quarrel with one another.”

“I was going to say that,” mutters Athena.

“I still think it’s quite rude, to remind us of all that unpleasantness,” says Aphrodite. “He cleans up nicely, though.”

“Well, I was barely involved in that stupid war, and I think he’s great,” says Artemis. She hops out of the boat. “Achilles, sir, is that you? I am  _ such _ a fan, can I have your autograph?”

That’s one way to break the ice, at least, thinks Ares as they all disembark. Including Hermes, which surprises him. “I thought you were just along for the ride with Charon,” he says. 

“Not at all, you think I’m going to miss out on this party?” his brother says. 

Ares speaks under his breath, willing the words to travel only to Hermes’ ears. “Don’t tell me you’ve been involved in this the whole time.”

The reply comes back just as privately. “All right, I won’t tell you.” He winks.

“Are we all here, my lords, my ladies?” Achilles is saying. His voice is soft, with an unearthly echo to it. “Welcome to the House of Hades. Please enter here, through the Queen’s Garden.”

“Queen, eh?” says Poseidon. “Didn’t think old Hades had one of those, who’s the rascal been hiding down here? Must be a hottie if he hasn’t seen fit to share her with the rest of us.”

Achilles opens the gate to them, and his gaze passes over them each in turn. At least, until it reaches Ares, and settles into a mask of cold rage. Then he stumbles a little in his courtesies, though he catches himself quickly.  _ He always did have a temper, _ Ares recalls.

He unhooks Aphrodite from his arm. “Go on, dear, I’ll meet you in a moment.” He waits for the others to go in and then addresses Achilles. “Is there something you wish to say to me, greatest of the Greeks?” he asks. 

The hero’s regard doesn’t flicker. “I would not dishonour my master’s hospitality, sir,” he says, “by making free with my words while you are a guest in his house.”

_ Sir. _ Not  _ my lord, _ not even for the sake of courtesy.

Ares takes a step towards him, and there is suddenly a figure in golden armour between them. He sighs. “Go away, Athena. Do not insult me by suggesting I would commit unnecessary violence against a servant of my uncle.”

After a moment, Athena moves aside. “See that you don’t, little brother,” she says, and goes inside, but makes no secret of stopping to watch from the doorway.

Ares approaches the hero to a spear’s length away. “I would not hold your words against my uncle,” he says. “You have my leave to speak your mind. I would hear what you wish to say to me. You may not have worshipped me formally, but in life you may have been the greatest devotee I ever had.”

The hero’s hand tightens on his spear, and he glares at Ares with the confidence of one who has faced down gods before. “I regret that it took until too late to repent of my folly in becoming such, sir. You ruin all you touch. You promised me glory, and then you took  _ everything _ from me.” 

It’s not like Ares expects those fallen in war to continue to look upon him kindly after death. But still. He pauses to make sure he can maintain his composure before responding. “If you wish to rail at me about the cruelty of war in general and that war in specific,” he says, “or the tragedy of your own personal story, by all means feel free. In fact, if you wish to request permission from your master to challenge me to a fight and vent your rage on me while I am here, I can take that too. But do not blame me for the choices you yourself made, or suggest that I betrayed or abandoned you. For my part, I gave you exactly what you wanted from me.”

He closes to within arm’s reach. “If you wish to hold the gods responsible for what happened to you, start with the ones whose squabbling and meddling started the war in the first place and complicated it as it went on. And finish, perhaps, with the one who personally helped Hector and Paris to slay both your beloved and yourself. That was Apollo, not I.”

He steps close enough that the shade has to either crane his head up or break eye contact. “I will not apologize for who and what I am. You are the one who chose glory over long life and happiness. I did not force you to do so. And do not pretend it was anything but your own stubbornness and pride that sent your love out into the field wearing your armour while you stayed behind to sulk in your tent.”

Achilles flinches visibly at that, but he doesn’t look away.

“And if you wish to speak to me of loss,” Ares says, very softly, bending his head down to the level of the shade’s ear, “know that I, too, suffered during that war. I lost beloved children, sir hero. One of my daughters, in fact, was slain by your hand.”

Achilles goes very still.

Ares steps around him and enters the House of Hades.


	8. Chapter 8

Aphrodite is waiting for him in the garden on the other side of the gate, and she is livid. “Of all the nerve!” she exclaims. “That ungrateful little—”

“No smiting,” he says wearily, pulling his helmet back off. 

“You will comport yourself with proper decorum as a guest in the house of—”

“Stay out of this, Athena,” both he and Aphrodite say in the same moment.

“He  _ insulted _ you, dearest,” Aphrodite says.

“I specifically gave him leave to do so,” Ares says firmly. “And besides, he is outside your domain now.”

She narrows her eyes. “He may be dead, but he still loves,” she says. “I bet I could—”

_ “No smiting.” _ While he does not raise his voice or allow his power to resonate in it, he makes sure she can hear the steel in his tone. “Consider him under my personal protection, if you won’t respect my uncle’s sovereignty. Make a move against him and I will never sleep with you again.”

It’s an empty threat and she knows it, but at least it shows he’s serious. “And they call  _ me _ sentimental,” she grumbles after a moment. “You  _ never _ let me have any fun on your behalf.” 

He kisses her thoroughly, partly to mollify her and partly to annoy Athena who is still looming. “If I want to smite, I'm quite capable of doing my own. Let’s just go in and be civilized, darling.”

Aphrodite looks up at him, flushing, and then looks around speculatively.

“We are not having a quickie in my uncle’s garden, either,” he says, putting his helmet back on. “Styx, I forget how excitable you get when you’re pregnant.”

“Fiiiiiiiiiine,” she says, and they go in.

* * *

The other gods end up clustering around Zagreus and his mother, exclaiming and cooing, so Ares makes his way to Lord Hades. “Lord Uncle,” he says. “I thank you for your welcome. Please accept these tokens of my respect.” He presents several fist-sized gems to the lord of the underworld. “Spoils of war, returned to the earth from which they came.”

“I trust we will have no repetitions of what happened the last time you were here, Lord Ares?” says his uncle, accepting the gift.

Ares is tempted to say  _ no, your son appears perfectly capable of smashing his way through your realm without my personal physical assistance, _ but this is the one uncle he actually likes and doesn’t want to further antagonize. “Of course not, Lord Uncle,” he says instead. “You know those were exceptional circumstances and I have long since expressed my regret for those actions. It will not happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” says Lord Hades.

“While I am here, though,” Ares says, “perhaps I could take the opportunity to pay my respects to some of my fallen loved ones, if they are available and willing.”

“That may be able to be arranged. We can speak of it later.”

“Thank you, my lord,” says Ares. “I am pleased to see the lady Persephone alive and well. Olympus became an even drearier place with her loss. She deserves every happiness.”

The sudden softness that comes over Lord Hades’ face when he looks over at his tiny wife holding court over the gaggle of Olympians raises him several more notches in Ares’ esteem. “She does,” he murmurs.

“My congratulations to you,” Ares says. “I must say I can’t blame you for trying to avoid the mother-in-law, though.”

Lord Hades’ expression becomes gruff again. “Explanations will be made once to all in due time, nephew.” It is clearly a dismissal.

“You know, there’s a distinct shortage of surprise about all this on your face,” Hermes’ voice says into his ear as Ares moves away to hover on the edges of the crowd.

“How would you know?” Ares replies privately. “I’ve got my helmet on, and I’m not even facing you.”

“Okay, when I say ‘face’ I mean more sort of ‘everything,’” Hermes says. 

Ares ignores the implied question. Maybe at some point they can compare notes regarding how much each of them knew when, but not right now in the middle of a gathering that could devolve into shouting and/or open war at any moment. 

Instead, he watches Zagreus. 

The prince is in his element, engaging with each of the visiting gods in turn, talking with Dionysus of revelry, with Poseidon of fishing, even managing to divert Zeus’ attention away from ogling his mother. He seems as charming and sincere as he ever did in their boon interactions, and from the outside looks utterly composed and unflappable.

Through the boon-forged bond, though, Ares can sense faint traces of his constant awareness of everyone’s positioning and where the avenues of retreat are, and it makes him want to laugh at how familiar that feeling is. Even when they aren’t actually at war, this family is something of a battlefield.

Eventually Zagreus makes his way over to Ares. “My Lord, welcome,” he says with a bow.

“My hell-born kin,” Ares says. “It is delightful to make your proper acquaintance and see for myself the one who has wreaked such lovely destruction with my aid. It has been some time since I had the opportunity to visit this realm.” He reaches into his personal pocket of the ether where he keeps his weapons and pulls out a wrapped bundle. “This is called a crossbow,” he says. “It is probably unsuited to your excursions, but I thought you might find it interesting as a curiosity, for use in target practice. Please do not try to operate it before I show you how to do it properly, though, as I would not want to see you shoot your own eye out. Or anyone else’s, at least by accident.”

“Perhaps you could show me later,” Zagreus says. “We have a training yard. And maybe, if you like…” He runs a hand through his hair in an endearingly nervous gesture. “Well, I don’t know if you are interested in the kind of fighting that doesn’t end in someone getting killed, but…” 

Ares chuckles. “The slaughter is not always strictly necessary for the contest,” he says. “I would greatly enjoy a friendly match or two with you once the formalities are concluded, to see for myself the skills that allow you to be such a prolific death-dealer. I dare say that by then we will both be more than ready for a bit of exercise. Formalities are necessary on occasion, but we are men of action, are we not?"

Zagreus grins. "People sometimes ask me if I ever even sit down," he says. "Thank you so much, sir, I am honoured that you would think it worth your time."

"Never doubt that you are worth my time, my kin," says Ares. "You and your adventures have been much on my mind of late, and I hope this is but the first opportunity of many to meet in person." He pauses. "One thing, though. Are you and your parents the only divine residents of the Underworld present here this evening? I would like to have a chance to visit with some of your Chthonic colleagues. Your esteemed, ah, stepmother, and her son the lord of Death, in particular." 

"Oh, I believe Nyx should be appearing shortly to help make the explanations that I know everyone is waiting for," Zagreus says. "Thanatos isn't really fond of large gatherings, he says Death is rarely welcome at a party. He did mention, though, now that you mention it, if anyone was asking after him he would be in the West Hall as usual." He tilts his head quizzically. "Is he expecting you?"

That sounds more promising than Ares dared hope. "Perhaps," he says. "I am a devoted servant of Death, but it has been a little while since we have had the chance to talk in person. I appreciate your information."

He wants to go right now, but there is no way he can get away with sneaking out of this gathering before it even properly starts. Especially not with Dionysus wandering up to them, a cup already in his hand. 

“Hey, Zag, good for you getting old Ares to loosen up a little. See there, I think he might almost be smiling. Did you offer to let him fight someone or something?” He winks at Ares. “How you doing, man? Haven’t seen you around Olympus in ages.”

“You know I care little for Olympus,” Ares says. “And I’ve been busy with the war.” But he lets his posture relax a little. He still hasn’t forgiven Dionysus entirely for the incident with his beloved Otrera and the Amazons, but he’s not too bad as long as he’s away from his maenads.

“Oh, you’re always busy with one war or another. Take it easy once in a while.” He passes his cup to Ares.

“What’s in it?” Ares asks, and glances at Zagreus. “Word of advice, my kin, if my dear brother here offers you anything, always ask what’s in it.”

Dionysus gives him a lazy grin. “No worries, man, it’s nothing heavy. We’ll break out the good stuff later if the party gets going enough. But for now this is just wine. There’s some really nice varieties growing in Italy these days, let me tell you.”

Ares takes a polite sip and passes it back, then leaves Zagreus discussing grapes with Dionysus and takes a slow tour around the edges of the hall, examining the artwork and decorations. He is not impatient, and definitely not worried about the fact that Demeter appears to have dragged her daughter off somewhere to have a private chat and that this is likely to delay the start of the feasting. He is not pacing like a caged animal, not at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could be titled “In which I try to maintain continuity regarding whether or not Ares has his fucking helmet on at any given time ugdasgljds stupid helmet”


	9. Chapter 9

Ares ends up seated between Artemis and Dionysus at the feasting table, which is fine, although whoever thought to put Aphrodite between Artemis and Athena probably should have had second thoughts about that.

He mostly stops listening to the explanations when he realizes how incomplete they are. For one thing there is no mention of Persephone’s having lived until recently on the surface. And then there is the even more patently bullshit story about pomegranates having powers that mean that no, mother, I cannot pack my bags and come home this moment. (If it were that easy, he’d have already done it.)

Well, whatever works to maintain the family equilibrium. He’ll try to get a complete story from somebody sometime.

But finally dinner ensues and finishes and eventually proceeds to the speechifying and drinking, and the guests begin milling about ignoring whatever anecdote Poseidon is mangling now, and Ares slips out of the banquet hall. 

One of the people he seeks is nearby, just down the corridor. The Night Lady looked out of place in the grand hall, washed out by the harsh glow of the party lights. But in the cool shadows of the dim alcove where she stands now, starshine twinkling around her, looking towards him with a slight smile as if she expected him… 

Well, he’s glad Aphrodite isn’t here to see. She gets a little intense about women more beautiful than she is.

“My lady,” Ares says.

"Come closer, young one," she says. Her voice is soft, but resonates deeply with the power of her divinity. The echoes feel so natural that Ares doubts she can fully turn hers off the way lesser entities like he can.

He approaches. There are not many gods he considers worthy of his reverence, but she is one of them. For a moment he is torn between lowering his head in respect and offering his adoration by just drinking in the sight of her, but open adoration wins. He's not much good at respect. And she seems content enough, amused even, to accept his regard. 

"It's been a while since you last visited this realm," she says. "You were younger then."

"That is how that works, I believe, my lady."

She laughs gently. "Not always, where gods are concerned," she says. "Some never grow up or change. And some are younger now than they once were."

Ares tries to make sense of that, but gives up almost immediately. Instead, he produces the veil she gave him and holds it out to her. "I think the need for concealment from the far-senses of my fellows is past," he says. "I thank you for its use."

She does not reach for it. "I find it interesting that you used it only to visit the mountain and the cottage, and not for any other purposes of your own. Keep it as a token of my friendship. It was a gift, given without conditions."

He bows deeply and stows it away.

"Speaking of gifts," he says, "I am afraid that I have nothing worthy to offer you but my esteem, but may I trouble you to pass on a couple of additional things to others? I did not want to give them in front of my fellows, and I worried that revealing my knowledge of some of their secrets would be taken as a threat. I can be more intimidating than I intend, sometimes."

"I can assure them of your intentions," she says. 

He sets the finely crafted battle axe down at her feet. "For the prince," he says. "I would be happy to teach him its use on targets other than trees."

The small bag, though, he puts in her hands. "For the Queen. Tell her that this year's harvest did not go to waste."

Fresh produce would not have lasted, but he has put together a sampling of dried fruits and grains, as well as little parchment packets of seeds, each carefully marked with its original position in the garden. If the markings look a little bit like diagrams of troop placements on a battlefield, he hopes she will not hold it against him. 

He has no idea if any of it will grow successfully down here, but that isn't his problem. It’s the thought that counts.

She gives him a smile. "She will be very happy, which is a gift to me on its own. Thank you for doing as I hoped and then some. It is good to have friends on the surface."

He bows again. “I am honoured to have your friendship, my lady. There are still things I do not understand about all that has happened, but I am content for now. I am glad that you were seeking to reunite, rather than to further divide.”

“There are yet divisions that remain,” she says.

“I know, my lady. There is one in particular that I would seek to mend.”

“All the way to the end, and then turn left,” she says, pointing the way. “He is there.”

* * *

At the end of the west wing is a balcony overlooking the Styx, and a figure in a dark cloak is floating just off the ground, watching the river.

Ares approaches, making sure his footsteps can be heard. Thanatos turns to see who is coming, and when he sees it is Ares he turns back towards the river, but there is no green flash into nothing, so Ares counts that as a good sign. He takes a spot just out of arm's reach, puts his hands on the railing, and looks down into the depths as well.

After a little while Death speaks. “I heard you were asking after my mother,” he says.

“I had questions that needed answering,” Ares says. “She was rather enigmatic. I think I like her, though.” 

“She likes you too,” Thanatos says. “She told me she would not dream of interfering in my personal affairs or attempting to solve my problems for me. Which for her, ah, translates to something like: stop being such an idiot.”

Ares doesn’t answer, just gives him space to form his words. 

After a moment Thanatos speaks again. “I thought you would be too angry to want to see me. I saw the wars you started.”

Ares keeps watching the river.

"I’m sorry about what happened,” Thanatos says. “I was upset and worried about a lot of things, and I… wasn’t thinking clearly. I took it out on you.”

Ares doesn’t look over at him. "I understand that there were things you couldn't tell me," he says. "I even understand that there may have been no way to avoid deceiving me, if you were sworn to keep things secret. But… you saw me as a threat. You thought I would betray you. And that hurt.”

“I know. I should have trusted you. Everyone was so worried about what Olympus would do. I saw a god on the mountaintop and I panicked, even after it turned out to be you.” He sighs. “And then I didn't know how to make it better."

"Not avoiding me would have been a good start," Ares says mildly. "Once I had a chance to cool off I tried to find you, but you are very good at being elusive."

"I'm sorry about that too," Thanatos says. "I was too ashamed to face you. And then the longer it went, I was ashamed of avoiding you too. And… I was scared. Because the thing I am good at is  _ ending _ things." 

Ares watches the river for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry I lost my temper," he says eventually. "If I had not become so angry, you might not have gotten so defensive. We might not have ended up saying things we regretted."

Thanatos drifts a bit closer. "So what do we do now?" he asks. 

Ares pulls his helmet off and sets it down. "We continue the peace negotiations, of course."

"Is that what we're doing?"

"I hope so," Ares says, putting his hands back down on the railing. "A war can only last so long. This one is not worth the pursuit, I think.”

After a moment, a hand reaches out tentatively to rest on top of his. 

"So now we have each admitted our faults in causing the conflict," Ares says. "Now we resolve to do better. I will try to be better at mastering myself when I am frustrated. Do you forgive me for frightening you?"

"Of course. I mean, you're literally a god of wrath. I know it's hard for you."

"I am supposed to be the master of my domain, not the other way around," says Ares. "Now it's your turn."

"I know I won't doubt your loyalty again. I saw how you stayed on our side and kept helping even after I let you down. But I'll also try to be better at not running away from conversations just because they make me uncomfortable… Do you forgive me for not trusting you and not being upfront with you?"

"I do." He smiles. "And now to reparations. You owe me a new spear."

"Oh. Right. I'm sorry about that, too."

Ares shrugs. "It was a remarkably effective yet merciful combat technique, though I did not appreciate it much at the time. Find me a replacement and we'll say no more about it." He considers. “I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t wield legendary artifacts.”

“I suppose so, as they would have fared no better.  _ All _ things turn to dust eventually. It's just a matter of speeding up the process.”

And there it is, that note of ultimate certainty, that solid anchor from which Ares has been unmoored this last little while. It sends a shiver down his spine, and his will to maintain any pretense of holding himself aloof anymore crumbles. He turns his hand to catch the one laying atop his own, and brings it to his lips as he sinks to his knees.

Thanatos—no,  _ Lord _ Thanatos, he is properly his lord again—makes a soft sound, and then his gauntleted hand comes up to rest on Ares’ shoulder. “Does this mean we’re okay now, my disciple?”

“Yes, my sovereign,” Ares murmurs, and they just stay that way for a while.

Aphrodite is half right: Ares is a conqueror by nature, and truly submitting to someone else for long in any aspect of his life is antithetical to his very being—physical chains are not the only kind that he cannot abide. While his reverence for his god is real and deep, his submissiveness to his lover is a parchment-thin veneer. If his lord were to try to assert any actual dominion over him beyond acknowledging the role Ares chooses for himself and playing out its expected counterpart, he would rebel and they both know it.

What she doesn’t understand is why Ares chooses to do it anyway, polite fiction though it may be. It’s not that he wants to give up control. It’s about  _ self- _ control.

Sometimes he wonders how he would have turned out if, in his youth, he hadn’t fallen for this quiet god and devoted himself to becoming worthy to offer him the reverence which only Ares seemed to recognize was his due. If he hadn’t acknowledged someone greater than himself in more than just the “I respect your authority within your own domain” sense and developed the discipline of considering someone else’s wishes alongside his own, instead of letting his own arrogance go unchecked.

A lot more like his father, no doubt. 

He doesn’t fit in on Olympus. But Lord Thanatos’ complete indifference to petty social machinations helped Ares to realize that he doesn’t need to prove a damn thing to any of his relatives in order to feel comfortable in his own skin. 

After a few minutes his lord brings him to his feet and they retire to the nearby couch. Ares’ emotions are too strong right now for any further intimacy than lying in each other’s arms and kissing, but Lord Thanatos is long since used to his limits and doesn’t try to initiate anything beyond that. For now they just bask in the deep familiar comfort that each of them provides for the other. There will be plenty of time later, for more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're just here for the Than/Ares resolution, you can stop here if you really want, but there's still more fun to be had!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been promising ThanZag since the beginning, have some ThanZag! And Ares is all on board this ship!
> 
> Also yes there are hints of some impending ZagAres because sorry I can't help it their chemistry is just too good

Eventually they get back up and Ares takes in the surroundings. “I really like this spot you have here,” he says. “Nice and quiet, and the view is kind of meditative. And all the decorations on the theme of your domain. It suits you.”

His lord looks suddenly embarrassed. “I didn’t put them here,” he says. “They're all new. Zag likes to keep the House Contractor busy…”

Ares blinks. “Are you blushing?” he asks.

His lord turns away. “No!” he says.

“You are!” He looks at the little table, the two chairs, the vase filled with poppies, the pillars adorned with stylized soul butterflies, the rug with the design reminiscent of his lord’s winged pauldrons. Although the sundial is an odd choice. “He’s sweet on you, isn’t he!”

Lord Thanatos has put his hands over his face. “Look around, there are lots of decorations everywhere, they’re all him, he doesn’t just do it for me.”

“My lord, he’s practically built you a shrine. One that includes a makeout couch. Rather a nice one, too. I can’t imagine I’m the one he had in mind when he had it installed.”

“You’ve met him! He’s sincere and generous and sweet and overly kindhearted to everyone, not just me…”

Ares’ jaw drops open. Then he laughs out loud and puts his arms around his beloved again, who is still squirming in embarrassment. “You might have said,” he says. “Honestly. It makes me feel quite a bit better that you attacked and mortally insulted me because you were defending the man you fancied, rather than just over  _ politics.” _ He kisses his lord’s forehead. “Were you already involved when he first ran away? Is that why you were so angry about everything?” 

“Involved? No. I don’t even think we’re ‘involved’ now. As I said, he’s charming and generous to everyone. But… when he first started trying to leave, I found myself feeling, I don’t know, more strongly than I expected, I guess.”

“So you do fancy him.”

Lord Thanatos leans into him. “I feel weird about it, though,” he says. “I’ve never been with anyone but you.”

“You know I wouldn’t mind,” Ares says. “You’ve never expected exclusivity of me. I mean, I’ve fathered another child on Aphrodite lately. Why would you think I would expect any different of you?”

“That’s not what I—wait, really?”

“So she tells me,” he says, unable to suppress a grin. “Not born yet.”

Lord Thanatos pulls back to give him a kiss. “That’s wonderful, congratulations.” He goes over and sits down at the little table, and Ares joins him. “But it’s not that I thought you would mind. What I meant was, I’ve never  _ wanted _ to be with anyone but you before. And you know how people confuse me and I always overthink everything. And… we weren’t talking, so you couldn’t help me figure it out.” He reaches across the table and takes Ares’ hands.

“Well, my lord, we are talking now and I am at your service. What is it that confuses you?”

“I mean… the way I feel when I’m around him, it’s different from how I feel when I’m around you. You make me feel important and special and you don’t mind that I’m not very good at talking without sounding grumpy, and you make the world less overwhelming. When I’m around him, I don’t know. I feel… moody and impulsive and nervous. And things are still overwhelming. But, like, in a good way, I think? Does that even make any sense?”

Ares chuckles. “That’s not uncommon when you first fall for someone.”

“Really? See, this is why I need you to explain things. I’m not used to getting carried away by my feelings.” He shrugs. “He reminds me of you in some ways, and not in others. He’s restless like you, though he hasn’t learned to master it yet. He puts his whole heart into everything he sets his mind to. And he’s courteous, at least to everyone who isn’t his father. Not the way you’re courteous, the way you choose to be even though it’s hard for you. It’s more like it would never even occur to him to treat people any other way. He just  _ likes _ people.” He averts his eyes again with another blush. “And, um, he looks really good when he’s fighting. Or any time, really.”

“Now that, I  _ had _ noticed,” Ares says. “He does seem quite delightful, and the fact that he appears to have shown interest in you is another mark in his favour. I’ve been more concerned with getting back together with you, but I admit I’d been starting to have a thought or two towards him myself, if we could find a way to exist in the same realm for long enough at a stretch.” 

“Oh gods, really?” Lord Thanatos says, and he looks so relieved that Ares laughs again.

“None of that, my lord,” he says. “If all parties are amenable, I may decide to pursue something, but you have the prior claim, and I cannot pursue  _ that _ for you. Have you told him how you feel?”

“I tried asking him what I was to him,” his lord says. “His answer was… unclear. And he keeps saying he’s trying to show me how he feels when he gives me things, but he won’t explain what he  _ means _ by that. He gives  _ everyone _ gifts.”

Ares just manages to keep himself from rolling his eyes, and he is about to speak when he hears soft footsteps approaching. 

“Ah, my fellow student of death!” he says when he sees who it is. “My dear associate and I were just talking about you. Weren’t we, my lord?”

“I… uh,” says his lord, scowling at him and again looking as if he might disappear into a flash of green any second.

Prince Zagreus looks from one of them to another, and down at their joined hands. “I’m sorry, my lord Ares,” he says, looking flustered, but then recovering his composure and managing to do a fairly credible impression of someone who hasn’t just seen the person he is in love with having an intimate tête-à-tête with someone else. “I was looking for you, but I… seem to be interrupting a private moment.” 

Maybe Aphrodite is rubbing off on him after all this time, but Ares can’t help thinking that this is just adorable. 

“Not at all,” Ares says, getting to his feet and giving the prince a small bow. “I grew weary of the revelry and went to stretch my legs, but your company is most welcome. Isn’t it, Lord Thanatos?”

“IthinktheremightbesomesoulsIneedto—”

Ares shoots him a look and puts a hand on his shoulder.  _ What were you  _ just _ saying about trying not to run away from uncomfortable conversations?  _ he tries to convey with his eyebrows and the set of his mouth. Then he turns back to Zagreus. “What do you need?” he asks in his most gracious tone. “My lord and I are at your disposal.”

Zagreus is still looking between them. “I thought perhaps, since the formal parts of the festivities seem to be adjourned… but if you are busy right now, I wouldn’t want to—”

“Ah, yes,” says Ares. “My lord, his highness invited me earlier for a round or two of sparring while I am here, and I think I am ready for a bit of exercise. Would you like to come along and watch? That is if you have no objection, my kin.”

“What? Oh, of course not. Than, I’d love for you to come watch, I mean if you like.”

Oh, gods. He calls him  _ Than, _ how cute is that. “Excellent,” he says. “Lead the way.”

Zagreus heads back up the corridor. “You  _ were _ just talking about how much you like to watch him fight,” Ares murmurs as he picks his helmet back up. “Don’t run away from this, my lord, please. I am here for you and wish you to be happy.”

Lord Thanatos finally gets to his feet. “I like to watch you too, you know, my champion.”

“An ideal situation, then, hmm?”

As they follow along, Ares sees Zagreus pause at the intersection to the main hall and turn to the figure standing guard there. “Achilles, sir, I’m going to fight Lord Ares, won’t you come watch?”

“You’re going to—are you sure that’s a good idea, lad?”

“A friendly contest, of course,” Ares says as they catch up. He meets the shade’s gaze and sends his words privately under his breath. “Think of me what you will, sir shade, but kindly do not cause a scene or attempt to interfere. Your student wishes this, and I would quite like to see what he is capable of. Let us not spoil his fun. Are we understood?”

Achilles’s regard is unsettled, but not openly hostile the way it was earlier, and he nods slightly to him before turning back to Zagreus. “If you are certain, your highness,” he says. He moves to follow the three of them.

Ares speaks silently to Zagreus as well as they walk. "I do not object if you want to invite one or two more," he says. "But I would prefer to keep the other guests out of it." Aloud, he continues, “What weapon do you favour, my kin? Perhaps later you can show me some of those outlandish artifacts you have been using in your exploits. And I will show you how to use that new bow I brought. But for this, I think we might stick to the spear or the sword.”

“The sword, I think,” says Zagreus. 

“An excellent choice,” he says. “Practice blades to start? If it goes well, perhaps we can try the real thing, just for fun.”

“I’m honoured you think I could keep up well enough to try. And I mean, if anything goes wrong, I would just have to walk back from the Styx for the next round,” Zagreus says.

“You’ve never offered to spar with  _ me  _ with real weapons,” says Lord Thanatos. “Not that I don’t think that’s a ridiculously stupid idea.”

“That’s why I’ve never offered, my lord,” Ares says cheerfully. “Immortality gives one the luxury of indulging the occasional ridiculously stupid idea, but I do not expect you to share in this particular foolishness. It’s… a warrior thing.”

“Sorry, Than,” says Zagreus. “I do think it sounds like fun.”

They pick up one more spectator along the way to the yard, the Fury Megaera. “This should be good,” she says in a raspy contralto. “I want to see you get your ass handed to you, Zag.”

When they arrive in the yard, the spectators take spots along the wall as Zagreus heads over to a side chamber. Ares follows him into the supply room.

“First of all, have you indulged in any of Lord Dionysus’ more exciting beverages?” he asks. “I won’t fight you if you are intoxicated.”

“Oh, no,” says Zagreus. “I mean, I was feeling a little woozy, but I already visited the healing fountain to clear my head.”

“Good.” He stretches his neck, then blurs his form down to only half a head taller than Zagreus, and dressed for combat rather than ceremony.

Zagreus starts. “You don’t have to do that, sir,” he says. “I’m kind of used to fighting my father.”

“This is fairly normal for me if I am engaging in actual combat,” Ares says. “Although I usually change my appearance as well as my size, of course. Otherwise the mortals tend to notice, and I don’t often want that.” He reaches over and picks up a couple of wooden swords from a shelf, checking the balance on each and keeping the one he prefers. “Now, one other thing before we begin.”

He checks to make sure the others are still out of earshot. “I have the impression that you have been courting Lord Thanatos,” he says. “Or at least trying to, in spite of his general inability to take a hint.”

Zagreus swallows hard, his smile becoming a smaller, fragile thing. “I do care for him, Lord Ares, sir,” he says. “I didn’t know he already… uh… I mean you know how private he is, and maybe I’ve been foolish—”

“Oh, as far as I am concerned, you have my blessing,” he says. “I just wish to advise you to make your intentions explicitly clear, else you may end up waiting a very long time. For all his excellent qualities, he is quite oblivious about some things, which you may have already noticed.”

He is rewarded with a renewed blossoming of hope on the prince’s face. “Oh,” he says. “Do you think he—”

“I think that is something the two of you ought to discuss for yourselves,” he says firmly. “In clear words. But for now, let’s both give him a good show, shall we?”

Zagreus is blushing now as they head back out into the middle of the yard, but he nods.

“Now. Where is your armour? I am not fighting you without armour.”

Zagreus taps the bracer on his arm, fashioned in the style of the Myrmidons. “This is enchanted to provide more protection than it looks, sir. Don’t worry about me.”

“If you say so, my kin. Ready?”

They raise their blades in salute, and then Zagreus springs into motion, fast and aggressive. Ares goes on the defensive, allowing several attack combinations to go unanswered, getting a sense for how his opponent moves. He's felt Zagreus fight, of course, through their bond, but he's only actually seen him in flashes through his lord's eyes, and he needs to get used to how  _ quick _ he is. This is certainly the student of Achilles.

Once Zagreus has driven him back in a wide arc across the room, Ares begins to respond, countering some of the strikes instead of just deflecting or avoiding, and gradually building more offensive momentum. Zagreus adapts well, settling into a more disciplined rhythm after his initial flurry of attacks.

He's not just quick, Ares realizes—those bursts of motion from one spot to another are a divine ability, and he's actually teleporting a blade's length at a time. He'd call it cheating, but they didn't actually agree not to use any powers, and given Ares is able to anticipate him sometimes based on what is coming through their bond, he considers it fair enough.

Ares is the first to score a hit, but Zagreus manages to land a few as well. Gods, but he hopes they'll be able to do this again. It's been a while since he's been able to hold back this little with someone who isn't one of the aspects of War.

Eventually, he puts up a hand to signal a halt.

"Well done, lad," comes Achilles' voice from the sidelines.  _ "Very _ well done."

Zagreus' face lights up.

"He does you credit, sir hero," Ares says, turning to him and saluting him with his blade. He then looks at his lord, who is openly smiling for once. He’s not sure if his wink will be visible at this distance, but he gives him one anyway just in case.

The only one who looks unimpressed is the Fury. "You're going easy on him," she says. Which, to be fair, he is, just far less easy than most.

"We were just warming up," say Ares. He looks over at Zagreus. "What do you say? Want to try it for real now? Or another round like this?"

Zagreus is flushed, his breath coming quickly, the battle focus still in his eyes. It’s a good look on him. “Let’s do it,” he says, giving Ares a slightly feral grin. “An opportunity to test myself like this doesn’t come along every day.”

Ares passes him his wooden sword, and pulls his own second-favourite real one from the air. “Fetch your blade, my kin,” he says. “I would not put you at the disadvantage of fighting with an unfamiliar weapon.”

“Stygius, sir? Are you sure?”

“Indulge me. I wish to see you at your best.” He turns to their audience as Zagreus goes to switch weapons. “This may get a bit… uncontained.” 

“I can shield myself,” says his master. “And I still think this is stupid.” But he’s still smiling.

“Are you kidding?” says the Fury. “I’m not missing this.”

“I’m already dead,” says Achilles.

“Suit yourselves,” says Ares. “Oh, and my lord, if you are wearing—?” he points to his own eye. “It channels my essence, and may distract me if it kicks in at the wrong moment. If you don’t mind.”

Lord Thanatos shakes his head. “I didn’t expect to need them today,” he says.

Ares watches Zagreus take the sword from the rack of legendary artifacts and it morphs in his hand into the form he apparently prefers, emblazoned with the skull motif of the Underworld. He really wants to check those weapons out, but that can wait a little longer.

When Zagreus returns to the middle of the yard, Ares is holding out a mote of red light. “Do you accept this message, my kin? I would make this truly sporting and see what you can do with what I can offer you.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content notes for chapter 11: consensual violence. Also, things take a pretty sharp turn towards the Ares/Zag so if the fact that they are technically cousins bothers you, turn back now.

Zagreus’ eyes are wide as he reaches out to touch the light, and they widen further as he realizes that Ares is not offering just a single choice. Ares dispenses them slowly, one at a time, allowing each to slot into place in the prince’s soul before adding the next. Zagreus has held these powers before, of course, but he has never held so many at once, all from a single god.

Ares needs to be careful, because while just about anyone can handle at least one gift from any given god, to go beyond a few requires a deeper affinity and a strong sense of self, or the god will simply overwhelm the recipient’s mind. Usually anyone who dares channel an unusual amount of a given god’s influence is already at least a little mad to start with, such as the shade in the room who, crazed with grief and rage at the time, gave himself over to Ares’ power as fully as anyone ever has.

But at this close proximity and as the connection grows, Ares can actually  _ feel _ the ways their soul’s borders touch and overlap to make room to graft the boons on without distorting the shape of the whole. The desire to conquer and dominate and destroy is not as primal and generalized in Zagreus as it is in himself, but it’s there in the satisfaction he takes in tearing up his father’s realm. There is common ground in their bitterness towards their respective fathers. There is a mutual yearning to be seen as better than their critics think they are. And of course, they are both in love with Lord Thanatos, although Ares’ love is ancient and deep-rooted while Zagreus’ is still in its first blossoming.

More than anything, there is the sheer delight in combat, the physicality and the competition, the exultation in battles won and the pleasure of a calm respite in between. Ares can reach all the way to Zagreus’ core, because Zagreus at his core  _ loves _ the thrill of the fight.

Zagreus can take everything Ares has to offer and still remain himself.

As the last boon slots into place and grows to full power, and he allows his own aura to flare to life around him, he realizes that the resonance between them has grown so strong that it goes both ways, and Zagreus can sense their connection the same way he can. They can’t read each other’s thoughts, but they can feel each other’s being, the depth of their bond. And as they realize this, Zagreus reaches back through it towards him, tentatively at first and then with more confidence. Ares feels a trickle of power coming from the other god, something akin to a boon of his own, offering him a little bit of increased vitality, not because he needs it but simply because Zagreus has found the way they both crave gentleness when off the battlefield and filled that in as well. 

It takes a few moments for Ares to finds his voice. “Now you know why I call you my kin,” he says finally. His voice is resonating with the roar of battle.

They both pull their hands back from where the light of the offering has faded, and it’s like being inside each other’s skin—each of them can feel the other’s movement almost like an extension of his own body. Their hearts are beating in unison.

“I thought that was just because we were related,” Zagreus says, as they each take a step apart and stretch. A faint red haze surrounds them both, and his voice holds notes of Ares’ own echo. He takes an experimental swing with his sword, which leaves a bright red trail in its wake.

“Initially, perhaps,” says Ares. “But a mere accident of shared ancestry does not always mean much among the gods. We are kin, you and I, in far more than that.”

He realizes there is a third faint heartbeat in their shared rhythm, from a heart that doesn’t even truly exist anymore but still has some echo or memory of being subject to these same powers.  _ Oops, _ he thinks, and carefully pulls the edges of his power back from Achilles. What happened at Troy seems to have left him unusually open to Ares’ influence even in death. The phantom rhythm fades, and Achilles’ grip on his spear relaxes.

He now turns his mind to practicalities. “In the interests of not bringing down the walls around us, and allowing our spectators to keep all their limbs intact, I think it would be prudent to avoid sending out too many blade rifts, yes?”

Zagreus nods his agreement and they both bring up their swords in salute.

“My lord Thanatos,” Ares says. “Can I rely on you to intervene if something goes wrong?”

“Of course,” comes the reply. 

“Good,” Ares says, and they begin.

This time, there is no circling, no testing of defense. They just come together in a whirl of iron, attack and counterattack following on each other’s heels with blurring speed as each of them senses what the other is about to do and comes up with an answer to it.

They both land hits on each other, drops of red blood and golden ichor mingling on the floor. They adjust for the slipping hazard underfoot and keep going.

At first, Ares tries to let Zagreus lead the overall direction of their dance, to let himself handle more of the countering and adapting, but he also enforces an ebb and flow in their pace, making sure to add in holds and disengagements to give themselves space to breathe and prevent the euphoria from carrying either or both of them away. Eventually, though, his competitive nature gets the better of him and he takes the lead himself, and to his delight discovers that Zagreus is—almost—able to keep up with him.

At one point Zagreus fails to move far enough out of the path of Ares’ blade and it catches him in the neck. There is a spray of blood and he begins to fall, his eyes glazing over—but then darkness catches him and bears him up, and with a snarl of “ _ Not… yet!” _ he is back on his feet and coming at Ares with even greater ferocity.

Ares has touched warriors before who had fear of neither pain nor death, but that has usually been either because they foolishly believed themselves invulnerable or because they were broken souls who felt they had nothing to lose, or sometimes both at the same time. Zagreus, on the other hand, is simply as fearless on the field as he is out exploring the world, because he knows that death can only touch him briefly.

He has no idea how long the fight lasts, but the outcome is not in question, of course. Eventually Ares has Zagreus disarmed and flat on his back, knee on his chest, sword point a hair’s breadth from his neck. They stay like that for a moment.

Then Zagreus, vanquished and bloodied and beautiful beneath him, tilts his chin up ever so slightly, baring his throat further. Yielding.

Ares' breath catches.

Their eyes meet again.

_ oh gods _

Ares dismisses his sword so that his sudden trembling doesn’t cause him to draw any further blood, and then very carefully and gently reaches down to touch Zagreus on the forehead, taking back his boons and returning the power Zagreus granted to him and damping down his own aura, until instead of two shining avatars of destruction they are just two warriors at the end of a practice match. 

Then he finally starts breathing again.

"Not bad," the Fury's voice says from the sidelines. "You were still holding back, though. Later, Zag." She heads out.

Ares moves off of Zagreus and helps him sit up. He's still shaking, they're both shaking, drunk on their own adrenaline and the still lingering resonance of their bond and the intensity of what just happened.

“Do you think,” Lord Thanatos says after a moment, his intonation just a little too flat, even for him, “that if you were to make a binding oath or something to Lord Hades never to go beyond the boundaries he specifies or cause any damage to his domain, he might allow you to visit on occasion?”

Ares freezes again as the light in the courtyard dims and turns red momentarily. “I WOULD CONSIDER IT,” Lord Hades’ voice says from nowhere

Zagreus startles. “Were you watching that, Father?”

“I WAS, BOY.” 

Ares tries to gather himself. “My Lord Hades, I—”

“STAY THERE. I WILL COME TO YOU.”

Ares takes a couple of breaths. "I think he liked what he saw,” he says quietly, gesturing with his chin towards the sidelines. “Go to him.”

"Ares, I… think we need to talk about what just—"

"Not right now," he says, a little more sharply than he intends. He softens his tone. "It appears I have an audience with your father. Give me some space. You are… a bit distracting, just now." He manages a small smile. "Besides, I believe you have a talk with  _ him _ that takes priority, do you not?"

After a moment, he feels a pulse of reassurance come down the conduit between them. It still goes both ways, he realizes, and wonders if that is going to be permanent. Then Zagreus gets to his feet and darts to the sidelines in a series of short teleports. He sees him say a few words to Lord Thanatos.

There is a green flash as his lord skips the space between them, and then Death is crouched next to him, taking his hands. "I'm here," he says. His voice is echoing, his eyes glowing, the aura of his power distorting the air around him.

Ares wants to say something like  _ not in front of my uncle _ but instead he just takes the gift, grounding himself against the rock-steady divine presence of the ultimate bringer of peace. His heartbeat begins to slow.

Vaguely, he hears footsteps approaching. “Stand aside, Achilles, I have business here,” his uncle’s voice says.

“It’s all right, Achilles, let him in,” says Zagreus. “Father, just give them a minute.” His tone is polite enough, but it’s got an edge of steel in it.

“I’m sorry, Lord Hades,” says Death. “I meant to bring this up regardless, but I had not discussed it with him yet, and I did not realize you were listening in at the time. He is still recovering from the exertion of his duel with your son. He will be ready to speak with you in a moment.” He gives Ares’ hands a squeeze and adds privately, “I’m sorry I caught you off guard.”

Ares’ squeezes his hands back. “No, it’s just all a little much right now,” he replies the same way. He takes a couple of deep breaths. “I’m all right, I think.”

Lord Thanatos’ aura fades and he gets up and steps away. Ares doesn’t bother standing. He’s a supplicant right now, after all, so he stays on the floor, still mortal-sized. He looks up, and sees Zagreus standing between him and Lord Hades, hand not quite on his sword, but not far from it.  _ And they call  _ me  _ impetuous. _

“Lord Uncle,” he says. Zagreus glances back towards him, then moves out of the way.

The Lord of the Dead approaches. “You wish to be permitted back in my domain, Lord Ares?”

“Of course, my lord,” says Ares. “If you are willing.”

“And do you offer to guarantee his good conduct, Thanatos?”

“I guarantee my own good conduct,” Ares says, as Lord Thanatos says, “I do.” 

“My son seems quite taken with you. I hope you don’t intend to spur him to further mischief.”

Ares doesn’t look over at Zagreus. “No, my lord.”

“It could be good for his training, though.” He looks over at his son. “After that display, I think it might be time to amend your pact to give you the option to go up against  _ me _ full force.”

“What do you mean, full force?” Zagreus demands. “Are you telling me all this time you’ve been going  _ easy  _ on me?”

Lord Hades ignores him and turns back to Ares. “My Queen tells me that you knew something of our—recent situation.” 

“Wait, what?” says Zagreus.

“Not now, Zag,” says Lord Thanatos.

“Yes, lord,” Ares says. “None of your people revealed it to me. I made some discoveries after I noticed your son was no longer dying in combat on his trips to the surface, that’s all.”

“You knew, and kept it to yourself.”

“I know where my loyalty lies,” says Ares, straightening his shoulders. “I am the champion of Death son of Night, and I would not betray the realm he serves, whose custodians I respect.” 

He is growing uncomfortable on the hard ground of the courtyard, and starting to get distracted by the pain from several small injuries that haven't healed over enough yet to stop bleeding, but he holds himself still, barely breathing. 

Finally Lord Hades pulls a scroll from a pouch at his side. “Understand that this can be revoked and your ban reinstated if you make me regret it, nephew.”

Ares takes the scroll and opens it. It shows a diagram of the House of Hades and its surrounds, with several areas marked as OFF LIMITS and others listed as BY SPECIAL PERMISSION ONLY. Above the diagram is a small block of text.

He reads it, then looks back up. “Truly, Uncle?” he says. “You would truly let me return?”

Lord Hades is looking off to the side, as if slightly embarrassed. “Either agree to the terms or propose any amendments,” he says. 

Ares waits for his eyes to stop blurring so he can read the text aloud. “I, Ares, do freely constrain myself when in Lord Hades’ domain not to stray beyond the areas permitted me by this contracted agreement, except by the express permission of the lord of the dead, nor to visit deliberate harm upon any creature, be it living, dead, or immortal, except in self-defense or the voluntary defense of the underworld or its lord, ruling family, or designated staff.” 

“If you want him to be able to fight me are you sure he should be swearing not to harm—” Zagreus begins.

“ARE YOU HARMED, BOY?” booms Lord Hades.

“Well, not as such, I guess…”

“Mutually agreed-upon training and recreation don’t count as deliberate harm. Obviously. Stay out of this, unless you  _ want _ to be put back to work going through contracts.” He harrumphs, then turns his gaze back down to Ares. “Swear yourself to this, nephew, and you may come and go as you please when you are not about your own duties, as long as you do not make a nuisance of yourself.”

Stunned, Ares whispers, “I swear it by the Styx in my own name,” and feels the oath take hold. His name and sigil appear by themselves in red ink on the parchment, which Lord Hades tugs out of his unresisting hands.

And just like that, it is done. 

“Thank you, my lord,” Lord Thanatos says, because Ares isn’t capable of speech right now.

“The Queen sends her thanks and her regards.” His uncle’s footsteps fade away.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes for chapter 12: established Meg/Zag referenced, in relation to Zag's kinky side

Ares vaguely registers it when his lord appears next to him again and pulls him into his lap, but he’s so dazed that he just lets himself take comfort in the safety of being cradled in those arms and lose track of a few moments. 

He comes back to himself when he feels a tingling warmth in his left arm. "—healing properties for gods, at least of the Olympian sort, if the stories are to be believed," Achilles is saying. He is holding an open gifting bottle of ambrosia and has just poured some over one of Ares' lingering cuts from the duel. Seeing Ares stir, he presses the bottle into his hand and says, “Drink up, my lord, it will do you good.”

Ares brings it to his lips and has taken a pull from it before he realizes what just happened. He meets the eyes of the shade, who merely gives him a small bow of the head before moving away to stand guard at the door.

The tingling washes over his whole body and relieves the soreness. As quickly as gods heal, and as minor as the injuries Zagreus inflicted on him were, he is not immune to the way his own Doom effects slow recovery with their wound-aggravating delayed damage. But ambrosia takes care of that nicely, as well as giving him a sense of relaxed well-being that papers over his exhaustion for the moment. He takes another drink.

“I’m all right,” he says, to reassure Zagreus who is crouched next to them with a concerned look on his face. “I just needed a few minutes to collect myself. This has been a rather taxing day. Or night. Whatever this is now. I think perhaps the weapon demonstrations can wait for another time, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Zagreus says. “There will be plenty of time for other things. Oh, and we’ll need to find you a spot of your own in the House. I’ll put the Contractor on it right away. You like red, right? Maybe some banners? A painting of a famous battle? And, like, lots of weapons on the wall, maybe?”

Ares gives a helpless little laugh. “Zagreus,” he says. “My dear kin.  _ Later.” _ He passes his ambrosia to his other hand so he can reach out and ruffle the other god’s hair.

Zagreus blushes as he leans a little into the touch.

“Right,” Ares says. “Perhaps we should talk about that, too.”

“What happened during the duel.” 

“Yes,” Ares says. “And after.”

He slips off of his lord’s lap and stands up to stretch, reverting back to his true size, though he continues to leave the ceremonial attire off. Then he sits back down so he can face them both, setting the ambrosia down so he can take one of each of their hands. “First I would like to say that I was not anticipating the side effects of what I did, that it would forge so intense a connection between us. Perhaps we should stick to unempowered sparring from now on.”

“It was amazing,” Zagreus says. “But, yes, maybe a bit much for everyday. Save it for special occasions.” He frowns. “Speaking of special occasions, I wonder if maybe Father would like to take a break from Temple duty sometimes. You could meet me up there and we could have a proper fight to the death.”

Ares blinks. “You… actually fight Lord Uncle Hades to the  _ death _ out there?”

Zagreus shrugs. “It’s… kind of a father-son bonding activity, these days. He probably wouldn’t want to give it up entirely. And I guess apparently he  _ has _ been holding back on me. But maybe if the parchmentwork is piling up and he doesn't want to take the time away.” He gives his head a shake. “A discussion for another day. As for what happened at the end…”

“I’m sorry,” Ares says.

“No,  _ I’m _ sorry,” says Zagreus. 

“You couldn’t have known,” Ares says.

“I got carried away by the intensity of it all,” Zagreus says. “I kind of forgot that there was anyone else in the room.” His face reddens again. “I kind of forgot there was anyone else in the  _ world.  _ I forgot everything except for the way you were looking at me. Like you were about to ravish me on the spot. Or maybe tear my throat out. Or maybe a bit of both. And I, uh…”

Ares winces. “I do not  _ ravish,” _ he says. “In fact I am exceedingly gentle, contrary to many people’s expectations.”

“Because you hold yourself back,” Zagreus says.

Ares goes still. “Zagreus,” he says quietly. “I am  _ War in all its brutality. _ I don’t know how much you know about actual war, but I have inhibitions for a  _ reason. _ I was afraid I would hurt you.”

“I know,” Zagreus says. “We were pretty far into each other's heads. So you had to have known that I, uh,  _ wasn’t _ afraid.”

It’s true. Part of Ares is still viscerally reeling from the moment less than an hour ago when, completely exposed to each other through the intimacy of that bond, Zagreus looked up at him and  _ saw  _ the hunger to  _ take _ and  _ conquer _ and  _ despoil  _ rising and threatening to crack through Ares’ layers of rigid self-control. And how the look he gave Ares in return was indeed not one of fear, not at all, and it was all Ares could do to concentrate on dismantling the boons tangling their souls together without leaving any fragments of each other behind in the wrong place.

“I… thought you were just caught up in the moment,” Ares says.

“I mean, yes I was caught up,” Zagreus says, and he's blushing furiously but he's meeting Ares' gaze steadily. “But, um. Well, you know Meg? The Fury who came along to watch? We try to kill each other on a professional basis. And then, sometimes we spend time together outside of work. And she, uh, doesn’t leave the tools of her trade at home when we do. If you know what I mean. I’m kind of, uh,  _ into  _ that kind of thing sometimes.”

“It’s true,” Lord Thanatos says. “It’s not exactly a secret. For some reason you’ve never bothered to get the House Contractor to put in an actual  _ door _ to your room. If Mother Nyx isn’t at home to put up her veil of darkness and silence…” He shrugs. “I mean, it isn’t my idea of a good time, but you and she both seem to have fun.” 

“I’m not saying I would want it to be like that always,” Zagreus says. “I mean, that is, if you even were interested in me when you're not just, you know, getting caught up in a moment, I don’t know. Just that… I want you to know I’m not afraid of that part of you. I’m sorry I pushed on your boundaries without realizing it and made you feel like you might lose control. But if you wanted, maybe we could explore some ways of doing things so we could both feel safe but you wouldn’t have to feel like you had to hold it all back  _ all _ the time.”

Ares swallows. "That gives me a lot to think about," he says. "As for my interest… Up until a few hours ago I was quite fond of you, but any intent to actually pursue you was only casual and sidelined by other concerns. But it's quite amazing how grafting your essences together can help you get close to someone in a hurry." He gives Zagreus' hand a squeeze. "I am so very glad that we will have the chance now to find out what we might become to one another."

Ares has had many lovers, but he’s never had someone who could give him  _ that. _ Aphrodite and his lord both understand why he is so careful not to go to them or any other lover unless he is calm enough to be absolutely certain he can trust himself, and he has confidence in their ability to shut him down each in their own way if he ever slips beyond his limits. But just because they can handle him if they have to doesn’t mean it’s something they are interested in indulging for their own sakes.

But Zagreus? Ares hadn't sensed this particular compatibility when he was handing out his boons, but then again, he supposes this is a place where their borders line up along similar edges from the opposite directions instead of overlapping. They both crave gentleness, yes… but sometimes they crave something very different, too.

He gets back up to his feet. "But that, too, can wait for later." The buzz from the ambrosia is wearing off and the need to do something intensely physical to clear his head is setting in. "I believe the two of  _ you _ are also due for a bit of a talk, are you not? My lord, would you feel better if I stay?"

Lord Thanatos blushes. "I probably would," he says. "But then I would also probably try to make you do all the talking. And you're right, this isn't something you can do for me." He stands as well, then offers a hand to Zagreus to help him up. "Maybe we should go somewhere quiet for a while, Zag."

Zagreus accepts the hand up with a shy, hopeful smile that warms Ares' heart.

"I am going to block both of you out of my head for a while," Ares announces. "I'm not saying you have to do anything  _ more _ than talk. But I want to give you the privacy for whatever you end up doing. And, my lord, if I hear later that you have run away again just because you got embarrassed, I am going to be quite cross. I might demand a second new spear."

Lord Thanatos smiles at Ares. "Are you sure you'll be all right on your own, my champion?" he asks. "After everything? If you need me, anything else can wait."

“You know me,” Ares says. “I need some time to process everything that’s happened in the last few hours. We can talk tomorrow.”

Before they go, he wishes his lord goodnight, their kiss soft and comfortable and still full of the joy and relief of their recent reconciliation. “Thank you for being brave enough to really talk today,” he murmurs. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Lord Thanatos replies. “Thank you for helping me be brave.”

Ares looks at Zagreus standing next to him, still covered in scabbed but unhealed cuts, full of the yearning for affection that Ares himself knows so well, and sees the expression on his face, and looks back over at his lord to see what he thinks. And then he reverts back down to his mortal size so he doesn’t have to bend down to kiss Zagreus goodnight as well.

Kissing a god always has notes of that god’s essence. Aphrodite is pure sensuality and the chaotic expanses of the sea. His lord is starlight and cold stone and endless silent depths. He’s been told that he himself is fire and iron and feral energy.

Zagreus tastes like new spring growth and the earliest light of dawn, with overtones of blood.

Ares takes his time, not wanting to rush their first kiss, but he doesn’t let it build too far. It’s not the time, right now, not even with the way Zagreus melts into him, his lips parting with a happy sigh to let Ares explore his mouth. Gods, he really does lack even the slightest shred of impulse control. Thankfully, Ares has plenty, and eventually breaks off in spite of the almost unbearably appealing little sound of protest the younger god makes as he does so.

“Oh my,” his lord says. “I think I might like that even more than watching you fight.”

Ares chuckles. “Another conversation for another time.” 

They head out through a different door, and Ares sees his lord do something he’s never seen him do before: change his own form down to mortal size so they are shoulder to shoulder. “Let’s hit the healing fountain first, Zag, you look awful,” is the last thing he hears.

Ares picks up the bottle of ambrosia. “Sir Achilles,” he calls. “A word, if you please.”

The shade turns around to face him. “Yes, my lord,” he says. He comes back into the room. 

“How much did you hear of all that?”

“Not much, sir,” Achilles says, “Was reciting histories to myself instead of listening. Given I was guarding their privacy and yours, it would have been inappropriate to violate it myself.” He is not meeting Ares’ eyes. “Your pardon if my presence was a distraction. I was charged to make sure none of our guests wandered around unsupervised so I was keeping an eye on your movements from a suitable distance. I was not expecting the prince to see me and invite me along.”

“I was a little more curious about this.” He holds up the bottle. “Yes, it has healing properties, but I was hardly as badly injured as all that.”

“An offering, sir,” says Achilles. “I thought you might refuse it so I took advantage of the opportunity when it was there.” He shrugs. “I mean, I could have just poured it out on the ground or something, but I’ve never been much good at piety. Given you were right here, it seemed a shame not to let you just drink it.”

Good idea. Ares takes a swig. “But  _ why? _ I mean, especially an offering such as this. I’m not sure if you are familiar with what it means to give it in this form, but it has a secondary effect of strengthening an existing bond between—”

“Yes, sir, I know,” says Achilles. “And unless the bond is sufficient, the stopper won’t even come off.” He still won’t meet Achilles’ gaze, but there is something of a challenge in his tone. “Did you not say that I was, what, the greatest devotee you ever had?”

“You seemed not to be fond of that designation earlier.”

“I was speaking to an image of you that I had built in my mind,” Achilles says. “I can still say I have no love remaining for your domain, but you yourself are not at all what I expected, and you showed far more forbearance than I deserved.” He drops to one knee. “Please forgive me.”

Ares studies him. “I gave you leave to speak your mind,” he says. “Do not expect me to hold a grudge because you took me at my word. You hardly needed to make an offering to me for that, especially not one as significant as this.”

“No, sir,” says Achilles. “The offering was for your daughter.”

“Ah.” Ares is quiet for a minute, then sighs and takes another drink. “Should I have expected you not to respond to Penthesilea's challenge? I was told you fought her fairly, killed her cleanly, and prevented her body from being desecrated. What other mercy should either she or I have expected? I grieved her, of course, and still do. And yes, if I had been nearby at the time you would have known my wrath. But now? It was long ago, and it was war. She challenged you, you fought, you won the battle. And you’re dead now in any case.” He stretches his neck. “Now please, soldier, on your feet. Thank you for your offering. But I have had more than enough emotionally fraught conversations today.”

Achilles immediately gets back up. “Of course, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Ares sets the bottle down by the edge of the yard and summons his spear. “I think my privacy has been sufficiently guarded, and my lord and your prince have gone off on their own. I do not believe I require your supervision, either, with my new permissions. I will be meditating here for a while. Stay or go, as you please.”

He returns to the middle of the yard and begins a set of drills, letting the precision of his movements consume his concentration. This is probably his third choice of activity to regain his equilibrium, after engaging in open battle and destroying things, but he did swear not to ransack his uncle’s domain, so drills it is.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Achilles watching him. He wonders whether if he picked a set of forms dating back to the Trojan War, the fallen warrior would join him. This isn’t the time to try, he decides. He needs to concentrate on his own state of mind right now. But maybe another time. There will be other opportunities.

After all, he can come and go from here as he pleases now.

He is  _ home. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for coming along for the ride!


End file.
